


A Sparrow's Ballad

by jaws_3



Series: Sparrow's Story [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, I try to focus on what happens in-between chapters and the like, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, a bisexual mess trying her best, a couple of disasters trying their best, believed unrequited love, focus is on my unit and Chrom but the others get to shine a bit too, it's a bit of a "fill in the blanks" fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-04-28 18:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14455410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaws_3/pseuds/jaws_3
Summary: Sparrow had only ever tried to live a cautious life, never pretending she had or deserved anything akin to Chrom’s love. She realizes too late this may have been her downfall. | a retelling of the first half of fea from the perspective of a bisexual mess trying her best.





	1. The Opening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prelude ; Prologue ; Chapter 1

A swordsman's back is the first thing she sees. Something warm and soft in her chest tells her she would follow this sight to her death. He bears a sword and there’s a name for it that dances just out of reach in her head. His form is practiced, hours and hours, and she finds it’s completely familiar and utterly foreign all at once. She feels the same about the book weighing her hands down. She hasn’t a clue where she is or what their goal is, but she finds her body moving with absolute purpose regardless, the words _protect, protect, protect_ repeating incessantly in her head.

They’re working together against a shared enemy, one who watches her with distaste and despair, and they finish him off with an ease she knows could only come with time.

Yet… as she watches the male tome wielder fall, she knows she does not know this man. Neither of them. It’s as if she is watching a play where she is both the actor and the audience all at once. The sword and tome wielder both are strangers to her. But, when the mage strikes out one last time, she finds she cannot hesitate in shoving the swordsman back, taking the full force of the blow that she somehow doesn’t feel at all. She senses the swordsman’s gaze on her the entire time and after she falls, it’s not long before he takes up her view once more. She tries to share in the swordsman’s glee in their victory as he helps her up, but it’s short-lived. When the magic in her hand strikes through him, and an echoing laugh shatters through her skull, she can focus only on the other man’s face and the desperation and pain she sees there.

“This is not your… your fault.” He tells her as he stumbles back and she feels herself mentally recoiling. She’d just brought his death and he was trying to _soothe_ her?! “Promise me… you’ll escape from this place.”

It’s as if she’s been submerged in water. Everything in her body feels as heavy as iron and as light as feathers all at once. There’s a pressure she can’t escape but she clings on long enough to hear his last statement regardless, the soft and desperate whisper of a dying man: “Please… go.”

He hits the ground with a dull thud and she finds she can’t breathe as she stumbles back. The laughter is growing louder and louder, threatening to consume her. She’s losing control of her body, as if an unseen force is dragging her down, bit by bit.

 _Where?!_ She wants to scream. _Where do I go?!_

A name sits just out of reach and she’s clawing for it desperately when...

She hears a voice: high, feminine, and worried. There’s a small whine in its tone when responding to the deeper voice that follows it and from their banter she knows that the pair speaking above her are siblings, or, at least something similar. She would wonder _how_ she’s able to parse all this out from a quick conversation, but her attention is stolen by the name spoken by the higher voice.

 _Chrom_.

She knows that name. It sits so heavily on her tongue and with her dream - _it had to be a dream_ \- still muddling her senses, a thousand apologies sit with it as well. But, when she properly opens her eyes, these thoughts and words begin to tumble apart and the dream breaks.

“I see you’re awake now.” Chrom says, his worry now replaced with amusement. The sun is bright and she has to blink a couple times to really focus on either of the two leaning over her. (Why is she on the ground?)

“Hey there,” the younger sibling says softly, as if speaking to a young child, or a wounded soldier. She can only quickly wonder if she is either before Chrom is teasing her.

“There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know. Give me your hand.” She takes his hand with little hesitation and eyes briefly the purple sigil that mars her own. But then he’s distracting her by pulling her up with such ease that she has to wonder if she is perhaps a lost child, seeing how little she seemed to weigh to him, before she has the chance to get right up close and personal.

He’s handsome, she realizes idly, tall, and _alive_. She shakes her head gently. Of course, he’s alive. It had just been a dream. Something one has when they have apparently collapsed into a deep slumber on the ground. (However, she wonders later, under a quiet blanket of stars, could you dream about people you’d never met? Or, perhaps, when you couldn’t remember a soul, were your dreams where all your memories lay dormant?)

She makes herself take a step back, crowding him is leaving her with the strangest desire to embrace him, almost missing his next question. It’s nothing but a simple inquiry, the usual questions of well being, but he seems genuine in his concern and she’s intrigued by the kindness shown to her in her dream, so she finds herself responding quickly and easily.

She thanks him, courtesy and caution seem to be embedded deep into her person, as there’s a quiet voice murmuring about the importance of word choice when interacting with others. Sparrow briefly wonders whose voice this is when Chrom is catching her attention again.  

"Ah, then you know who I am?" he asks, politely curious. 

She blinks at him for a second, briefly stunned, before realizing when she had thanked him, she had used his name. A name, she realizes, she probably shouldn’t know. He isn’t terribly surprised by this and she feels information cycling through her head that indicates this could only mean he is someone with some sort of status; no commoner would be so accustomed to strangers knowing them.

She goes to explain why she knows his name, but she finally notices a man that resembles a bear with a frown that could frighten away wolves standing not far behind them and suddenly she’s not entirely sure she wants to test out saying, ‘I dreamt of killing you and also your little sister said it.’ (For how was she to know that was indeed his little sister?)

So she lies.

“No, actually, I... It's strange... Your name, it just...came to me…” she makes her voice soft, gentle, and startled. Trying oh so hard to not be perceived as a threat any more than she already had been. She holds no desire to be eaten by the bear looming in the distance.

Chrom seems unperturbed, and appears to be turning her words over in his head. When he speaks, it is only intrigue that tinges his voice, “...Hmm, how curious. Tell me, what's your name? What brings you here?”

She opens her mouth to reply, to quickly and easily explain away any suspicions, and it’s only when she can’t find the proper words to answer him that she realizes that she has absolutely no idea who she is. It’s genuine now, her floundering, as she looks around and tries to orientate herself. She is in a field but has no memory of why or even where. Quickly, questions start filtering through her: what country is this? What region? Who ruled and who followed? These were all very important facts she should know but _didn’t_.

The girl proclaims her an amnesiac (they had a word for this infuriating struggle? Its definition files back through her head only when she hears the girl speak it.) while the bear proclaims her a threat, although not in such precise terms.

“It's called a load of pegasus dung. We're to believe you remember milord's name, but not your own?” He questions, frowning down at her from his full height. He has the countenance of a knight, she notices, and while part of her agrees with him, the entire situation seems quite ridiculous, she still takes a small step away from him. The rest of her wishing to live through this encounter.

“B-but it’s the truth!” She counters, her fear now genuine as no matter how hard she tries to file back in her memory, the only thing she can recall is a spattering of her dream with Chrom, and even that is slowly starting to slip away. She tries to bring back precise memories, of a name, a home, of a favourite _food_ , but all that comes up is bleak emptiness. She could tell Chrom was nobility just by his response to her calling his name but she can’t manage to recall her own?!

It is more irritating than frightening and when she vaguely hears the bear (Frederick, as Chrom calls him) call Chrom ‘Milord’ again she takes some pleasure in reminding herself that she at least knows _something_.

They speak of bringing her with them without her having any sort of say and it’s only then she turns back to them. Memories be damned, many other matters need her attention at this moment.

She attempts to argue back, politely of course, no battle was ever won without the correct use of words - had she read that somewhere? - but Chrom soothes her while Frederick glowers and she finds herself following them regardless of any wish of doing the opposite.

Living, after all, is the most important thing.

“What will you do with me? Am I to be your prisoner?” She asks eventually, care not to let slip any hint of her inner voice growling about how she would fight for her freedom, even if she isn’t sure how well she will do against "Frederick the Bear". Since meeting Chrom, something quiet in her has echoed and encourages her to keep at his side, to find out all she could about him, but she would refuse this voice if it meant she is to be treated like a common criminal.

Chrom simply laughs, reassuring her again of her safety, and she finds herself in wonder at how a man could have a laugh so kind and gentle. She perks when he mentions the name that sounds so like a kingdom and finally she gets a proper explanation of things, ignoring the scoffing and sceptical bear.

She learns she is in the Halidom of Ylisse and ruled by an exalt, Emmeryn. Chrom’s voice goes sweet when he mentions Emmeryn and she makes note that his family must be quite fond of the ruler for him to take such a tone. His voice keeps this fondness when he introduces who she correctly guessed was his little sister, Lissa. Her pride in knowing this is quickly replaced by surprise when Lissa calls their group the Shepherds.

“Shepherds?” Weren’t shepherds a sort of farmer? “You tend sheep? … in full armour?” She  works very hard to not sound as rude and as baffled as she feels but she can’t help but wonder what sort of country she had fallen into. Did Ylissean wolves have swords?

Chrom laughs again and she finds she very much likes the sound. Especially when its rival is Frederick’s disapproving scowl. Frederick makes an attempt at playing nice, but she knows he would cut her down if she even made a twitch that put her too close to Chrom. And when he mentions his ‘station’ she makes a quick note to pay closer attention to her language. Chrom must be of utmost importance if he has such a large and faithful man at his side. She’s pleased, at least, that in her attempt to soothe the bear she finally discovers her name.

“I understand, sir. I would do no less myself. My name is Sparrow.” The phrase comes out so smoothly with the tone she’s chosen that she feels like she’s had to reassure many a worried man before. “…I just remembered that. How odd. I suppose that's one mystery solved.”

“Sparrow?” Chrom parrots back at her. “Is that foreign?” Sparrow isn’t sure why he’s asking her seeing as she just discovered it not a moment ago, but Lissa quickly derails the rest of the conversation when she notices a nearby town going up in flames and Sparrow soon finds herself alone, the Shepherds rushing off.

There’s something in her that _needs_ to understand Chrom’s kindness. It seems almost unstoppable and free, something she’s never known nor something she could truly comprehend. To offer something so dangerous to a stranger, to even his own murderer, not that he knows that, drives Sparrow to follow him into battle, offering her services which are happily accepted.

She’s trained in war, she soon discovers, and she sees the flow of battle in every movement these Shepherds and brigands make. It’s like a game, she thinks belatedly, and she knows immediately she does not like to lose at any game.

She sees everything; strengths, weaknesses, likely movement and choice of weapons, even from a distance. A familiar thrill climbs up her spine and she knows she’s, at the very least, studied this before, even if this is perhaps her first fight. She was made for battle. (She probably should have noticed the sword at her side earlier.)

Chrom, despite his otherwise steadfast and unfounded belief in her, doesn’t give her much credit when she discovers she can use magic. (“You believe so? Perhaps I'll just keep a few paces behind you for the time being…”) Sparrow is only slightly offended by this. When she casts her first spell, she only burns her hands a little and she manages to stave off an enemy from getting a sword in Chrom’s side, so, really, she couldn’t be all that bad. (Burn marks are what gloves are for.)

Chrom calls her a friend and ally almost immediately, before the battle even reaches its conclusion, and it does nothing but spur her desire to follow him even more. What sort of man found an ally in a stranger collapsed in a barren field? He’s too curious to ignore, so she’s thrilled, and truly honoured, when Chrom offers her a spot as his tactician. (Even if the bears huffs and puffs in the background. Perhaps she should call him a wolf instead?)

They, or, more specifically, Frederick, refuse the town’s heartfelt hospitality, (Sparrow, for her part, has no feelings either way) and Sparrow feels a small smile grow when she playfully teases him. Lissa tsks and Chrom grins, boyish and mischievous and Sparrow knows his relationship with Frederick goes farther back than she first imagined before explaining, “Frederick only smiles when he's about to bring down the axe.”

Sparrow is sure to return his grin, even if she’s internally muttering about how this damn bear would be her cause of death, and gives a slight bow, “Duly noted.”

Frederick seems genuinely offended, huffing, “You do realize I AM still present?”

“Oh, we realize.” Chrom teases back. It’s hard not to when he blocks out a good portion of the sky and sun for Sparrow (how short is she?), and the small chuckle she gives is genuine. Frederick seems to resist the urge to roll his eyes and Sparrow knows she is safe from any consequence, if only because Chrom seemed so pleased with himself, and they finally move on.

It’s not long before Lissa begins with her complaints and the sun begins to sink into the horizon. They set up camp quickly and efficiently - at least the others do - Sparrow tends to her own spot in the corner slowly as they address the rest of it, as she finds herself unsure of the proper protocol surrounding “camping”.

Chrom manages to catch a _bear_ and Sparrow’s not sure what the others are complaining about. The bear holds no strange taste to her, or any real taste at all. She wonders if this is perhaps odd, but the feeling of something warm filling her stomach is a much more satisfactory thing to focus on, and she decides it’s hardly important.

They settle in for sleep not long after dinner as Sparrow can see the exhaustion growing in them. She briefly eyes Frederick, who had set up not far from her, and debates her safety for a moment, but her doubt quells when Chrom shoots her a smile and a sleepy, “Goodnight.”

Sparrow, like the others, is without a blanket, and so decides to wrap herself up completely in her cloak, her hood and arm becoming an excellent pillow. The others don’t fare much better, but Lissa manages to easily whine a spare cloak out of Frederick, and slumber calls for them quite quickly.

It feels as no almost no time has passed before Sparrow and Frederick awaken to the ground quaking and two absences. The bear’s gaze snaps to her immediately, anger and suspicion burning brighter than the moon. She’s not entirely sure what makes him believe she would be stupid enough to return to sleeping, or even just to _him_ , after dispatching the other two, but his overprotectiveness of his charges is not something to be trifled with and she finds her hands flying up in a show of submission immediately, “I didn’t do anything!”

His gaze narrows but before he can interrogate her, the sky is dyed crimson and the faint snap and crackle of fire begins to sound in her ears. Frederick hears it too and they’re on their feet when the flames begin to lick at the corner’s of their vision. Sparrow instinctually jerks away from it all, but quickly finds it to be completely surrounding them. A woman’s voice from her hidden past hisses in her ear that the gods are angry and later Sparrow will wonder if they’re angry at her but for now she’s forced to follow Frederick as he darts straight into the heart of the fire, both Chrom and Lissa’s names flying from his tongue.

She alters Frederick’s course only when she spots the summoning circling widening in the sky, yanking on his arm so he moves with her. She feels drawn to it for multiple reasons but if Chrom and Lissa are the danger magnets Frederick views them as, then they are bound to be there. 

She’s right, of course, and they’re right on time to witness several waxen creatures start stumbling towards them. They’re horrifying, with the strangest way of moving. Jerky and uncomfortable to watch. Their movements and the bright red that lay claim to their eyes both signal they are no longer from the land of the living. Sparrow hears a low hiss sound from her when she realizes there are more than they could take without risk of serious injury.

“Are such horrific creatures commonplace in these lands?” She asks and she’s surprised at how fancy she sounds, given the absolute panic ripping at her stomach.

“They're not from Ylisse, I promise you that.” Chrom shoots back and she feels an odd sense of comfort knowing they are at least all in the dark together.

They enter battle quickly, the monsters giving them little time to form any sort of strategy, and Sparrow can’t help the sigh of relief when two more fighters arrive. She worries for a brief second, unsure if they are allies or not, but the horse rider (who is later introduced as Sully) quickly calls for Chrom and so Sparrow relaxes and immediately sets to work figuring out how to best utilize them. The male, who proclaims himself to be Virion with more flamboyance than necessary, surprisingly fights almost as well as he flirts, though, by Sully’s reactions, Sparrow isn’t quite sure this is a compliment.

The battle is finished when Sully slams her lance through the chief monster’s head and Sparrow makes a firm note to give the horse rider and her horse a wide and respectful berth.

“It seems all the creatures are vanquished.” Frederick says. His face is covered in soot and his posture stiff and resolute as he angles himself towards another new figure not far behind him. “This young man took care of the others.”

The young man in question is a curious enigma. Something about him rings familiar, but Sparrow can’t place anything on him yet, so she observes in silence as the others question him. When he finally speaks, calling himself Marth, she can hear the voice is put on, like a child pretending to be a king to order their rambunctious siblings around, and she learns he can vanish as swiftly as he can appear.

 _This world teeters at the brink of a horrible calamity._ Sparrow repeats the stranger’s phrase to herself several times and can’t find any trace of deception. The vagueness is infuriating but perhaps necessary, in the strange Marth’s mind, given the severity of his tone. She can’t help but try and connect it to her dream though she can’t imagine how they would be. She needs much more information to make any proper connection.

“Not much for conversation, is he?” She sighs, almost under her breath, but Frederick still catches it.

“It appears his skills lie elsewhere. I wager we'll hear his name again... But for now I'm more concerned about the capital. We should make haste.”

There’s a hum of agreement, though Sparrow briefly mourns the loss of sleep, until Sully interrupts it, jutting out her chest with a decisive huff and explaining she would catch up to them later, after checking around and making sure there were no affected villages.

Despite a small jab at the leader, she makes him promise not to get into too much trouble without her. Chrom visibly relaxes as he thanks her. Sparrow makes sure to take note of their relationship. Sully is obviously a trusted and respected comrade, and when the horse rider turns to leave, she grabs hold of “Ruffles’” collar and drags him off to join her. Sully makes some comment about Virion proving his “might” and as he scrambles to keep up, Sparrow grins. She knows immediately that she likes her.

After they separate, they have to make their way carefully through the forest, small sections still caught up fully in the blaze, but it’s not long before the fires dim and they can see what Sparrow can only guess is the capital. They’re all still covered in soot, and it’s become much more noticeable in the morning light, so Frederick insists that Chrom and Lissa take his spare handkerchiefs to tidy themselves. Sparrow giggles quietly as she watches Chrom rub at his face with one delicately lined in pink lace and he flushes slightly, making a show of seeming exasperated. She declines when he offers it to her and makes her own show of swiping her sleeve across her face. She’s sure she only manages to smear the ash on her even worse, if the look of disapproval that Frederick shoots her is to be trusted.

They manage to clean themselves more thoroughly when they run across a stream just before the capital’s border walls, though they continue to reek of smoke.

The capital, Ylisstol, Chrom tells her, is truly breathtaking. It’s bustling and noisy, with many shop owners shouting their wares and haggling prices, but there’s a sense of unity, trust, and peace that Sparrow can’t help but take in. They’re closing in to the centre of the city when she hears a civilian call out to their exalt. There’s a brief hush before an uproar sounds and the people move in to catch a glimpse of her.

She’s stunning, Sparrow notices, with an air of grace and dignity that cannot be ignored. She moves calmly through the people, smiling gently when she catches any eyes and nodding humbly to the cheers. She’s flagged by several soldiers that remind her of Frederick in their posture though not in their look. (They all seemed to be women, tall and proud, and Sparrow has no doubt they would lay their lives down for their ruler.)

“The exalt is your ruler, yes?” she asks, watching her move elegantly through the streets.

“Yes.” Frederick replies, voice proud. “Her name is Lady Emmeryn.”

“Is it safe for her to walk among commoners like this?” She can’t help but question it. It seems to odd to have your ruler move about the streets like she is looking for a nice new hat. Sparrow’s sure the guards would make quick work any of that tried to approach, but there are more than direct attacks, especially when she stands so open before everyone. She turns back to the group to find Chrom vaguely amused and Frederick vaguely annoyed. This is already nothing new.

“The exalt is a symbol of peace—Ylisse's most prized quality. Long ago, at the dawn of our age, the fell dragon tried to destroy the world. But the first exalt joined forces with the divine dragon and laid the beast low. Exalt Emmeryn reminds us all of the peace we fought for then.” Frederick grows firm in his explanation, if a bit long-winded, perhaps offended she would imply the exalt is not safe, and Chrom too affirms the focus of peace.

A ruler so dedicated to the idea of peace, she fully inhabits it and walks amongst her people to spread it Sparrow muses… It’s breathtaking.

“Then the Ylissean people are indeed lucky to have her.” Sparrow says in slight awe. She knows little of the exalt but even she is calmed by her presence, it’s no wonder the capital itself radiates this same feeling. Perhaps too much, as Sparrow is calmed enough that she only nods along to Lissa’s claim of the exalt being the greatest big sister, which could hardly be argued with, a woman with that sort of air would undoubtedly be…

… Wait.

Sparrow spins on the two of them, mouth more agape than she would like, as she rapidly reorganizes all the information she had previously gained on them.

“She’s your… But wouldn’t that make you and Chrom…” she’s floundering again, no pretense whatsoever. Frederick actually seems amused.

“The prince and princess of the realm, yes. You remember Chrom's name and not this?” He asks and she has to hold back her fist and her words. How was she supposed to know this? She did not have the time to ask him about his status as nobility when she was shoving her magic’d hand in his stomach!

“You said you were "shepherds”!” She whines, turning fully to Chrom. She almost feels betrayed but Chrom has the gall to hardly look sheepish.  

“And so we are...in a manner of speaking,” he grins at her. “We just have a LOT of sheep.”

Part of her wants to take him by the collar and shake him. Generally one told the strange amnesiacs they found on the ground of their royalty status. It is common courtesy surely! Sparrow feels - even if she only remembers the past day and a half - that there is a certain amount of pride one could hold in speaking correctly. It’s what keeps people _alive_ and yet, here she had been, speaking to the Prince as if he were nothing but a soldier in arms! No _wonder_ Frederick had been so displeased with her. And what is he, the royal bear?! Is there anymore to their deception?

“C-Chrom…” Sparrow stutters, not trusting herself to say anything else yet, before falling into a practiced bow and even more practiced speech. “I mean, Prince Chrom! Sire! Forgive my dreadful manners!”

She doesn’t have to look up to hear the sound of surprise that comes from him or the small and weary sigh he gives afterwards.

“Just Chrom is fine,” he insists. “I’ve never been much for formalities.”

She allows herself to peek up at this and she reads in his face the distaste he has at this treatment. She’s sure there are odd nobles that care little for rank, but hearing a prince claim such an attitude is baffling. She straightens and takes note of the smile that grows from this and gives a short nod. If that was what he wished, she would oblige.

(He only continued to grow odder by the minute.)

“The prince and princess…” as she says it she’s more annoyed she didn’t catch on earlier. “That explains why Frederick tolerates all the teasing, eh?”

“Indeed. Oh, the sacrifices I make for the good of the realm…” Frederick makes a show of sighing and the smile he elicits from her is real. She had wondered why his love for them was so much stronger than that of a simple knight. He seems to have relaxed, knowing she has it in her to give Chrom the treatment Frederick knows he deserves. Chrom, for his part, ignores them both with a small roll of his eyes and gently tugs on her sleeve.

“It looks like Emm is returning to the palace. Would you like to meet her?” He asks, the sweet tone he had taken when discussing the exalt before returning. No wonder the tone sounded so similar when he had switched between her and Lissa, Sparrow realizes, they were two of his most important people.

She wants to decline, of course, because she didn’t need any _more_ knights eyeing her like the threat Frederick believes her to be, and she hardly thinks she’s worthy of a personal introduction, but Chrom has his boyish grin and he’s more excited than she thought he would be so she smiles back at him and nods.

“I would love to.”

Sparrow quickly discovers how fascinating castles could be. Her head’s a abuzz the moment they enter, filing away all sorts of information. From likely escape routes, to which servants hate their jobs, and what soldiers are likely to gamble when they aren’t being watched.

She gets too caught up and nearly runs into Chrom three times while trying to take everything in. He chuckles good-naturedly each time but the bear still huffs at her from behind.

They meet the exalt in the throne room and here Sparrow allows herself to fall back. When Emmeryn spots the group she brightens immediately, stepping away from her guards to greet them.

“Chrom! Lissa! Welcome home. Oh, and good day, Frederick. How fared you all?”

Chrom relaxes at his sister’s greeting and readily fills her in. They all share a great love for their people as it’s the second thing she asks about and Sparrow finds herself in awe of them all over again. Chrom’s kindness is echoed in Lady Emmeryn (or, perhaps the other way around) and Sparrow can both understand completely and not at all why their neighbours wish to start an uproar.

They move to her eventually and she gives an awkward bow when the exalt expresses her gratitude.

“Not at all, milady!” She says and she means it genuinely. All she had done was burn her hand a little using magic against a thief and shove an old sword in a monster’s gut. She truly doesn’t understand why they are giving her any praise at all.

She feigns the worry and the hint of panic in her face when Frederick accuses her of being a spy as inwardly she’s nodding along. He’s right after all, and rightfully suspicious. She could be a great deal of things and any sort of threat. It’s hard to feel any offence when she agrees with him. But, she’s sure taking such an attitude would bode ill for her and keeps to the meek charade.

Besides, Chrom disagrees with them both and he silences Frederick, genuine hurt and anger lacing his tone. Sparrow is sure she and Frederick share the same level of surprise at this. She’s hardly an old friend, there’s surely no need for Chrom to get so upset.

The exalt keeps her patience and soothes her brother while also acknowledging Frederick’s doubts. She has a level of mastery when it comes to pacifying people that Sparrow finds herself envious. Chrom defends her and his decision, though Sparrow still doesn’t believe that joining in a couple battles really makes her worthy of such admiration. Especially when she only did it to feed her own curiosity about the young prince. But it seems Chrom and his family are more alike than they probably realize.

“Well then, Sparrow... It seems you've earned Chrom's faith, and as such you have mine as well.” Emmeryn says with a gracious nod and Sparrow makes sure to fall into a deep bow of gratitude. This family is _much_ too kind.

The exalt then turns to Frederick with a warm smile and thanks him sincerely for his worry, which seems to pacify the knight. He receives it well before changing the topic to address the monsters they had encountered. Phila, who Sparrow can only assume is Emmeryn’s assigned guard, confirms their appearance all over Ylisse, and Sparrow soon finds herself being left alone as Chrom and Frederick are called to council with the others.

Sparrow blinks and sways briefly on the spot, turning to see if anyone is going to come and give her instructions, when Lissa bounces up beside her and tugs on her sleeve with a bright grin.

“I think that's our cue, Sparrow!” She chirps as she starts to drag Sparrow towards the door. “C'mon, there's a place I want to show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the beginning of this absolute monster of a fic I didn't really mean to write.... It will follow the path of my beloved Sparrow, a disaster bisexual, trying not to die. it will be mostly canon compliant, with only a few tiny alterations.  
> This chapter more strictly followed the game, but in the subsequent chapters I try to fill in more behind the scenes stuff!  
> This fic IS already complete! Chapters will come out as soon as my roomie is able to beta them.  
> Hope you enjoyed this first instalment!


	2. The Arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 2 & 3

“A place” turns out to be the Shepherd’s Garrison.

It’s cozy, warm, and exactly what Sparrow imagines a home would feel like. It looks well lived in, with a dusting of various items scattered across the tables and counters and multiple scuffs on the walls and floors. She spots a shelf with several large manuscripts that pique her interest, but before she can even make a move for them, her and Lissa are rushed by - who she safely assumes to be - more Shepherds.

Within five minutes of meeting them, gathering their names from the quick flurry of conversations that encircle them, Sparrow ascertains three things: one, no man would ever experience a tenth of the love Maribelle holds for Lissa; two, Sumia is hopelessly in love with Chrom; and three, any hope Sparrow had of befriending Maribelle withers the moment she opens her mouth. Especially since it’s to humour Vaike.

(Sparrow takes some comfort in knowing that at least Lissa held some semblance of fondness for her and that that would surely stave off any full blown attack from Maribelle, even if it won’t hold back the sharpness of her tongue.)

The group seems sweet and sensible, save for Vaike’s boastful attitude, able and willing to fight. There’s also a strong sense of camaraderie that Sparrow knows will play well in battle. They’re a wonderful group to start working with and she’s quick to start cataloguing them, filing away any little tic or habit she catches.

Chrom isn’t long in following them in and Sumia races for him, subsequently tripping over her own feet in the process. Her stammers are adorable, pitiful, and routine it seems, as Chrom hardly seems concerned. (Or aware of the true cause.) 

He brings with him a morning march to Regna Ferox, where they’ll request the warrior’s aid in battle, and asks for volunteers. The tone he takes seems to indicate he actually believes his team would ever refuse him, and it’s almost as cute as Sumia’s floundering. They all agree readily, of course, Lissa agreeing so heartily she nearly whacks her brother in the face. One man startles Sparrow badly when he chimes in, as he seems to appear out of nowhere. She later learns his name is Kellam, and this is a very particular talent of his. 

The only one to have any degree of hesitation is Sumia, who seems to lack any semblance of confidence. Sparrow finds it curious, surely one needed some sort of recognized skill to join the Shepherds, but Chrom soothes the girl before Sparrow can question her and by the light in Sumia’s eyes, Sparrow knows there are few places Chrom could go where she would not follow.

Sparrow expects him to return to the castle afterwards but he surprises her by nearly collapsing into a nearby chair. She has some pity for him, for their morning _had_ been quite exhausting. He’s hardly given a moment’s rest though, as Vaike immediately descends upon him with a challenge to a duel. Chrom seems amused. Lissa less so.

“Stop pestering him so much, Vaike! We just got back and you already want him to have a stupid duel with you?” She shouts, pouting and putting both hands firmly on her hips.

“It’s not stupid! It’s-“ Vaike returns but Sparrow finds herself distracted from hearing the rest of the statement when she feels a gentle touch on her arm. She turns and finds Sumia smiling sweetly at her.

“Sparrow? Would you like to see the rest of the garrison?” Sparrow can detect a hint of shyness in her voice, but her earlier doubts seem to have lifted so Sparrow smiles back and nods.

She gets quite an informative tour, Sumia is delightful and full of little tidbits, especially when it comes to Chrom (who does end up accepting the duel with Vaike it turns out, despite Lissa’s disapproval). Sully and Virion arrive closer to dinner, which is a serving a fish that Lissa exclaims her thanks for, and confirm that no villages suffered too much damage, though Sully gripes about one farmer wailing on about his broken fence.

“Coulda lost his life but he’s more bothered by a chunk a wood!” she huffs with obvious annoyance, slamming the end of her lance in the ground to punctuate her point.

“They rely on those fences to keep their livestock safe,” Chrom reminds her, though Sparrow can see he shares some of her feelings, “We should be thankful that’s all he could find to complain about.”

Sully grumbles but she doesn’t voice anymore arguments. It’s not long after dinner that Chrom urges them all to get some rest as their march would take at least a day, if not more, and only if they rose early in the morning. They also need to be prepared for anything, given the events in the forest. There’s some grumbling, which amuses Sparrow, as they seem more like children than soldiers when they do this, but a firm cough from Frederick pushes everyone to their feet and their rooms.

Sparrow finds herself stalling here. The others retreat farther into the building while Frederick guides Lissa away in the opposite direction, presumably to the castle where it would make _sense_ for her to sleep. Sparrow quickly shakes her head and chides herself. It had only been a night, was she already so accustomed to having them near her side? She glances around to find Chrom, to see if he could explain where she would be sleeping in the garrison, but he seems to have vanished. Thankfully, Sumia catches her arm once more and, with a sleepy smile, instructs her to follow.

They too retreat farther in the building, Sumia leading her up a set of stairs and to several empty rooms lining a rather lengthy hallway.

“You can pick any one you want! They’re not much, but it’ll be a room all your own!” She beams and Sparrow can’t help but return it.

Sparrow decides on the room closest to the stairs, often the first to be attacked but also the closest to the exit, and bids Sumia goodnight, watching her retire to her own room several doors down the hall before turning to do the same. She makes it three very slow steps in, attempting to survey the entire room as she enters, before Chrom’s voice sounds at the door, startling her.

He surprises her enough that she simply stares blankly at him, completing forgetting to invite him in, but he hardly seems bothered and instead leans on the doorframe with his arms crossed. She can see he appears to be very content, despite the fatigue she also notices building on his face.

“What do you think?” he asks, “Of the Shepherds, I mean.”

“They’re a good team. I’m looking forward to working with all of them.” Sparrow replies, carefully and truthfully, and watches as Chrom’s smile grows. She knows he adores them and she automatically makes an internal note to pull them back if they are ever too badly injured. Chrom is likely to handle none of their deaths well.

“Thankfully it’ll just be us for this mission, we all decided bringing the army would most likely send the wrong message.” Chrom jokes and Sparrow feels that this statement is meant to reassure her but she completely stills despite the light tone. The… army? “I might not be the best peacekeeper, but I know arriving with a hundred soldiers doesn’t give the right energy.”

He’s laughing, like this conversation is perfectly reasonable, but Sparrow finds she can’t quite find any semblance of a sentence to reply with. The _army_ ? Surely Chrom hadn’t been proposing she was to be the leading tactician for his entire _army_ when he made his earlier offer. The Shepherds, yes, she could handle them. They were small and vital, but still challenge enough. To guide an entire army would require much more faith and skill.

(She decides she needs to find their previous tactician. She has several questions and perhaps a notice of resignation.)  

She goes to question giving her access to his _entire_ _army_ so quickly but before she can, he’s smiling at her like she is a gift given to them by the gods, “I’m glad we found you, Sparrow, I have every faith in you.”

 _You shouldn’t._ She wants to say. _You really shouldn’t_. But she finds she is unable to break the smile from his face. His kindness is almost overwhelming so it’s all she can do to return his smile, give a short bow and assure him she would do her best before bidding him goodnight.

It’s only when the door shuts firmly behind him and she can no longer hear his footsteps echoing down the hall that she allows her knees to buckle and collapses onto her new bed.

 She is going to need to do a _lot_ of studying.

(A small seed of fear takes root in her stomach and she knows it is something she will be nourishing for a long time.)

The morning is too bright and comes much too quick. Sparrow glares weakly at the receding light pinks and blues of dawn as the birds noisily chatter amongst themselves. It feels as though they are mocking her fatigue and she wonders if she has the strength to fire off some of her magic in their direction. ( _She_ had to learn the geography of their entire continent and attempt to shove at least two and a half books on armies and the Feroxi into her head that night. What have the _birds_ done that gave them the right to mock her so?)  

“Is everyone ready?” Chrom calls and a low murmur of agreement sounds from their convoy, even the horses nicker lightly. “We’ve a long march ahead.”

Sparrow gives a quiet huff. Long march is a bit of an understatement. It would take them at least a day, and only if they stuck to the main roads and had little in the way of distraction, to make it to the borders and who knew what trouble they would encounter anywhere along the way. The terrain isn’t terribly difficult at least, if she’s looking for any sort of positive.

“W-wait for me!” a voice calls out and the whole group seems to move in unison to watch the newcomer, and his horse, rush in. Chrom calls his name just as the man reaches them, bending over his knees to catch his breath before shooting back up and giving a low whine. “Why am I the last to hear about this expedition to Ferox?”

It’s a little childish, his behaviour, but Sparrow appreciates his drive to join them. She’s less appreciative of Vaike’s forgetfulness, which is the cause of the newcomer’s late arrival, and makes a strong note to never rely on him for messages, ever, in the future.

Part of her wants to tease Vaike, the rest of her wants to sleep, and neither get their wish as they begin their march and she falls into step beside the newcomer.

“Your name is Stahl, right?” She asks, catching his attention. She heard the name - and the praise - a bit the night before but she still needs to confirm and get a better read on him. She wants to like him, but if he dares mention anything about breakfast she may have to fight him. She’s starting to recognize her taste buds aren’t like the others but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t appreciate something other than a bruised apple she scavenged in the early morning hours in her stomach.

Chrom’s closer than she expects and he startles her a bit when he interrupts to take the introduction upon himself. She nods along before turning back to the other man, Stahl.

“Hello Sparrow,” he greets, with an easy smile and an easier air around him. Sparrow finds herself falling into faster than she expects. He seems like a man of little danger which she finds odd considering his skills were spoken of so highly. “Miriel told me we had a new Shepherd. Er, Miriel's one of our mages. She should catch up soon.”

Sparrow nods, appreciative of the knowledge and more so of the mage. Having a balance between close range and distance fighters is always beneficial and their only other long range is Virion, whose refusal to leave Sully’s side ended with him also making a place for himself in the Shepherds.

She finds she likes marching with Stahl - even if he jumps up on his horse eventually - and keeps beside him, half listening as he chatters away with the others. Sully also seems to have a fondness for him that Sparrow knows she’d never admit, and stays near them for most of the morning half of their march.

When they break for lunch Sparrow finds her feet already ache. She eyes Sully’s horse with a mournful look and wishes she knew if she could even ride a horse. Stahl gives her a pitying look and asks if she wishes to borrow his for the next little portion but she declines. She has to strengthen her feet somehow. Sparrow also isn’t positive she could control the animal and decides she doesn’t have the energy to find out.

They continue on and Sparrow keeps to Stahl while Sully moves to march beside Chrom and Frederick, who continue to lead the way with hardly any decline in their energy. Eventually the scenery begins to thicken into lusher forest and Stahl turns to her, curious. “Where are you from, Sparrow? I don’t think anyone mentioned that.”

She blinks at him and does attempt to cycle back through her memory to see if anything had been stirred up but the result remains the same.

“I don’t know.” She answers honestly. “I don’t remember my past. In truth, my memory only starts with my meeting with Chrom two days ago.”

“You don’t remember anything?” Stahl repeats loudly and this catches the attention of the others close to them, including Lissa who gains a small skip in her step as she chirps back to explain.

“Yup! Didn’t we tell you? Sparrow’s an amnesiac!!" 

“You’re an amnesiac!?” They all shout and Sparrow can’t help the small jump back she takes.

“Y-yes?” She replies awkwardly. She reads the pity and shock in their faces and wonders if it really is so terrible a thing. So far she had only found it rather infuriating.

“Wait, you met Chrom _two_ days ago?” Vaike cuts in in very apparent disbelief.  “And you’re _already_ our tactician?”

Sparrow just nods, mentally preparing herself for the doubt she’s sure will come with her answer. 

“So… Chrom just…?” Vaike slowly asks, perhaps thinking harder than ever before, if the deep furrow in his brow is to be believed. Eventually he turns his head to stare at Chrom, as do the others, but Chrom is a touch out of hearing distance it seems, and unsure of the sudden attention, so he simply gives them an equally baffled look in reply. The group then decides to turn back to Sparrow, and she simply gives them a half-hearted shrug. Why Chrom decided to trust his troops to an amnesiac with a sword is beyond her as well, no matter how happy she is about it.  

“Man, I thought Chrom had heard of you or something but you are FRESH, fresh blood!” Vaike whistles and Sparrow wonders if she should take some sort of offence from this but they’re interrupted by the wailing call of the monsters scattered by the bridge they’re rapidly approaching to spend too much time on it.

“Gods, have the Risen spread this far?” Chrom exclaims and Sparrow finds herself throwing him an odd look as she moves beside him.

“‘Risen’?” she asks and Frederick nods before explaining their new name. It’s… accurate in an odd way and Sparrow repeats it to herself a few times while she surveys them, plotting their strategy. She then hears about Vaike’s lost weapon and quickly reorganizes absolutely everything. _So much for quick and easy…_

Thankfully, it all goes relatively smoothly. Miriel arrives swiftly after them, bringing with her several barbed insults, a strong array of magic, and an axe. She’s a truly impressive mage with a less than impressive defence, so Sparrow keeps her with Vaike as a tiny bit of payback for the axe wielder. Dissolve her plans so quickly again and, Sparrow grumbles to herself, she would weld his axe to his hand _herself_.

They offer to give her a break but when Frederick says, “Acting as we see fit may not always lead us to the best course of action.” Sparrow internally mutters _then why would I let you act on your own?_ and assures them both she is still able to guide them. She does not like losing and she refuses let anyone interfere with her winning, even the Shepherds themselves.  

The monsters seem to have only improved in strength which irks her, but they manage to secure their victory. She has to bite back a groan as she realizes, along with Chrom, that the Risen spreading this far bodes ill for them all.

“We’ll need to stay wary.” Frederick declares, half to Chrom, half to the group and Sparrow hates the creatures already. Why did she have to become a war time tactician in the middle of an undead uprising? Keeping everyone safe from brigands and the like is challenge enough and she’s sure there’s not a single manuscript discussing the best methods of handling _monsters_.

She loses her marching buddy to Vaike and Sully and falls in behind Chrom and Frederick instead. Lissa eventually joins her and shares with her several stories of the area and of their family that Sparrow enjoys listening to, especially when she gets to hear Chrom’s laugh at some of the more ridiculous ones. 

As the forest becomes a field, the temperature begins to drop and she knows they’re nearing the Feroxi border. Before they can make it, however, they run across a rather fascinating creature.

“Well, what do we have here?” Sparrow finds herself asking, genuinely at that too. When it came to her memory, most words and their definitions didn’t return to her until after they’ve been spoken. Thankfully, Lissa and Chrom are there to fill her in.

“Hey, is that what I think it is?” Lissa asks in absolute awe as they slowly approach it.

“It's a pegasus, all right.” Chrom confirms. “I think it's hurt. Let's just have a look here…”

 _Pegasus_ . Sparrow repeats to herself. It’s a pretty name for a pretty creature that nearly crushes Chrom under its hooves. Sumia, thankfully, has a much easier time with it and Sparrow finds her almost angelic as she succeeds in calming the creature. Sumia offers to stay behind to administer the necessary aid and she and Chrom share some sort of conversation that Sparrow doesn’t pay much attention too, much happier to imagine the benefits of having a flying horse - or flight in _general_ \- at their disposal. Chrom actually has to grab her arm to remind her to start marching again.

He seems amused by her dazed look and questions her about it. Sparrow debates telling him she was imagining herself with wings, but opts for a more intellectual answer, “Just thinking about how to best utilize a pegasus in battle. That’s all.”

The sun dims and the cold begins to bite the closer they get to Regna Ferox, with small flakes slowly beginning to fall from the ashen grey clouds collecting above them. Sparrow finds herself wishing she was still next to Stahl or Sully and the shielding their horse provided. Frederick offers his to the chattering Lissa but Sparrow doesn’t quite feel like risking any of his horse’s hooves near her feet.

“So this is the fortress?” She asks as they approach it, her eyes scanning it all the way down. It’s immense and she can only imagine the kind of people that it hides. Chrom nods and calls it the Longfort. It’s aptly named, that’s for sure.

They continue on but it’s not long before Frederick notices a change, “Trouble in the wind, milord: the Feroxi Guard are mobilizing.”

Sparrow has to bite back another groan. She knows little of these people save for their apparent penchant and desire for battle, and they’re not what she wants to deal with at the moment. Frederick insults her, in his own way, despairing of his having to trust her as she scans the fort and begins trying to formulate an array of potential moves. She’s hardly offended, more annoyed he couldn’t put her out of earshot for it. Besides, Chrom, once again, takes all the offence for her, standing firm, “Indeed, she IS our tactician, after all. So, Sparrow? What do you suggest?”

When he turns back to her, it almost feels like the warmth he’s expressing is to make up for the logic Frederick spouts. She’s honestly half asleep and not a hundred percent on what is happening, but the situation really isn’t as complicated as they seem to believe.

“It’s simple: we go in with peace and prepare for battle.”

They both give her an odd look. 

“We’ll try our hand for diplomacy as long as it’s viable. If they force us to play at violence than we do, but only if we must. Besides, you can still win a battle without bringing any death, all we have to do is show our strength. That way we don’t risk causing an uprising by killing any of their soldiers but we can still try and turn their hand.” 

“Genius!” Chrom cries at her, giving her way too much credit. “All right, let’s try it out.”

She’s sure Chrom both dreads and prefers a battle, stating himself a lack of talent for diplomacy. She believes he’s selling himself short, though she does agree his talent does lie primarily in his sword hand.  Frederick eyes her, but there’s more respect than distrust this round so she smiles back at him. 

Their attempt at diplomacy lasts for hardly a minute. She’s a little surprised, but simply files this fact away so it may better help her in future interactions with the Feroxi. She becomes much more focused on the lances soaring at Chrom to bother with anything else.

Sumia, thankfully, is the Gods’ gift to them, snatching Chrom from harm's way and carrying him off on her pegasus’ back. Apparently her lack of talent in the simple art of walking was held back so she could handle a pegasus with the ease of a master within an hour. She brings Chrom down, after they almost seem to take a short victory lap, and the other Shepherds are quickly upon them.

They’re all briefly amazed and distracted, with Chrom and Sumia tittering away at each other till Frederick clips out a rough, “And I think we had all best focus on the situation at hand!”

Sparrow has to agree with Frederick, there were better times to flirt than the battlefield, and there’s an odd snap of anger in her fingers she has to flick out. She feels she could place the anger if she tried but something in her stubbornly refuses so she calls to Chrom instead, bringing his attention back to the battle at hand.

Kellam scares her half to death once more when he calls out to Chrom in the middle of the battlefield. Sparrow had been keeping close to the prince and is nearly knocked backwards when Chrom throws himself back into a fighting stance at Kellam’s voice. As the two converse, Sparrow peeks around Chrom to finally get a better read on Kellam. She’s delighted when she finds him to be an excellent soldier, slightly concerned at his almost supernatural abilities when she hears him say he had been with them the _entire_ time. Regardless, he has an impressive defense, and she sends him forward to carve out a path for the following Shepherds.

She lets out a low hum when she turns back to the rest and notices most of the Shepherds engaging with the enemy alone and brings up the idea pairing them off. Excitement laces her tone when the information on the benefits of teaming up start filing in unbidden as she speaks. She’s already fallen in step beside Chrom, so she quickly instructs the others to keep together as well.

The battle is tough, much harder than defeating the Risen, and the process is slow as they need to defeat but not _kill_ the soldiers they are facing. They still make good progress and Chrom soon remarks how it feels like she’s been at his side for ages. Sparrow’s too worn out to hide the look of bewilderment she shoots his way. (Thankfully he’s more focused on the battle at hand as it takes her several moments to shift her face back into polite gratitude. She has been there scarcely two days, Chrom. _Two days._ ) He also mentions the benefit of continuously fighting by another’s side but thankfully her practiced smile is back in place for that and she has it in her to nod in agreement when he looks back at her.

They leave the battle with only a few scrapes and bruises, as well as a very apologetic escort, who is introduced as Raimi. Raimi sends word of their arrival before them though she insists they spend the night at the fort, explaining that a blizzard is fast approaching and it would do no one any good to have a frost bitten prince.

Chrom seems vaguely offended, or perhaps simply proud, and questions this, calling to notice the messenger dispatched before them. Raimi actually laughs, “Prince Chrom, we would not survive as a people if we could not weather a measly storm.”

Chrom pricks up a bit, genuinely offended now, but Sparrow quickly catches his arm before he or anyone else can speak out, “Chrom, I think it’s wise we heed her counsel. It’s almost night and we are not prepared for this weather. We’ve also already spent the day marching. Let’s spend the night here and be well rested when we meet with the Khan in the morning.”

Chrom turns to her, but his fist is still clenched so she softens her tone even more, almost to a whisper, “I don’t think she meant any offence, Chrom. The Feroxi are much more likely to be accustomed to this weather and besides, do you really want your sister marching in a blizzard? At night?”

He keeps her gaze and she manages an encouraging smile. If he tries to make her march in blizzard when the light of day was quickly waning there is more likely to be _fists_ over _words_ , but the tension in his arm eventually dissipates and he turns back to Raimi much calmer, “Thank you for your hospitality, it would be much appreciated.”

Raimi nods and shoots Sparrow a grateful but also knowing look that Sparrow doesn’t wish to pry into. They are treated well and given a delightful (so say the others) meal of a warm and hearty stew, along with a little musical entertainment when some of the guards break out their instruments. They’re loud enough that the howling wind almost seems like an accompanying player and the group all relax into it, somehow convincing Stahl to stand up with the guards and dance.

Virion also makes a show of playing a borrowed violin and Miriel only groans twice to Sparrow’s ear about their antics, so it’s a welcome rest indeed. Sparrow also manages to locate one book that discusses the Feroxi battle habits and takes it to her room to study when everyone retires for the night. She finds the busy hum that fills the Longfort, the stone chambers gently echoing with the sounds of distant footsteps and armour clanking together, strangely comforting and when she does bury herself beneath her blankets, she's glad that sleep isn't far off. 

Morning still comes too soon, and while there are no birds to mock her this time, Frederick's voice demanding that she wake cuts cleanly through her dreams and Sparrow is left to wonder if perhaps she preferred the bird's singing. 

(Perhaps today she would take Stahl up on his offer of his horse and if she lost control as least she knew who to aim for.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a lil late cause my beta got done wrecked by a cold and then I was busy with a student film but iT'S HERE.... chapter 3 should be quicker huzzah  
> this chapter ending was fighting me hecking rip in pieces


	3. The Organization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 ; Robin and Stahl's C Support

Sparrow briefly worries for the Shepherds as she measures herself against the thick snow drifts awaiting them in the morning light and can’t help but wonder how much time it would take them to make it out past the front  _ gate _ let alone to the Khan. However, as soon as she goes to take her first step, Raimi is laying a heavy hand on her shoulder and laughing in her ear. 

“Hold there, Tactician! Let us go first, we can make a path for your Shepherds.” Raimi says, an amused look in her eye. Sparrow debates explaining that they aren’t exactly  _ her  _ Shepherds but she’s still a bit too tired to speak so she smiles and nods her gratitude instead, stepping in behind the Feroxi soldiers now arriving.

The snow is nearly to her knees so she’s exceedingly grateful for the path carved out for them as they make their way to the castle, and perhaps just a bit jealous of the stamina and strength the Feroxi seem to have. (Though, while they clear a good section of the snow, a couple small patches of ice still catch a few of them by surprise and Lissa gets plucked up at one point by Frederick to ride with him after her third slip. Sparrow only eyes her with jealousy  _ once _ and she’s quite proud of herself for it.) 

Sparrow is also gifted with the return of her marching buddy and keeps close to both Stahl and the warmth of his horse, adamantly ignoring the laughter and amusement of both Chrom and Sully when they spot her hunched over in her cloak and shivering next to him. The cold is most decidedly  _ not _ her friend, its bite is quite harsh, but she still tries to straighten herself a little when Raimi looks back to see if they’re all doing okay. 

It’s hard to judge time as the clouds from the previous day have yet to vacate the sky, colouring it an ashen grey and distorting the sun’s position. But Sparrow knows the Feroxi castle comes into a view a lot faster than she thought it would. 

It’s a welcome relief, standing tall and proud against the grey landscape encompassing it. It’s also delightfully warm and Sparrow heaves out a sigh of relief almost as soon as they enter the building, though she hides that in her sleeves, which are still close to her face from her trying to breathe some heat into her hands. 

Most of the Shepherds are forced to stay behind while Sparrow joins Chrom, Frederick and Lissa in, what she assumes, is the Feroxi the throne room. It seems almost more expansive than the one in Ylisse, and Sparrow finds herself quickly mapping the room out, making sure to take note of every entrance and exit, should they need them. 

Raimi leaves them not long after they congregate in the centre of the room in order to locate the Khan who, Chrom presumes, must be training. 

“A warrior ruler, eh?” Sparrow wonders aloud, finding herself unable to stop her inward musing to vocalize. “I can picture him now… A giant of a man of unparalleled thew, his broad chest covered in hair…” 

Sparrow snickers a bit at the end at the image her sleep deprived brain provides. This same brain is what she opts to blame for such thoughtless words, as she finds herself quickly embarrassed when the Khan’s voice sounds from behind her.

“Am I now?” The Khan asks, quite amused. “...Please, do go on!”

Sparrow immediately spins to come face to face with a Khan who is  _ much  _ prettier than she had been imagining. Sparrow goes scarlet but before she can stutter over any other words and attempt to build a better image of herself, Chrom interrupts, so Sparrow takes the chance to duck behind the group, staying silent for the remainder of the conversation with the Khan who introduces herself as Flavia.

Sparrow manages to convince herself that her silence is necessary, as she knows it’s hardly her place to offer any advice when it comes to these sorts of discussions, and that it’s better she takes this time to observe their host. In that, she means that she spends a good portion of the conversation staring at the floor and pretending that Frederick isn’t internally laughing at her.

Chrom gains Flavia’s affections easily enough, his openness and simplicity playing strongly to his favour, but the Feroxi troops prove to be more of a challenge when they discover Flavia is unable to provide them, lacking the authority. Their distress at this news flares only briefly with Khan Flavia offering them the only choice they have - to represent her in the upcoming tournament. She would win full sovereignty over Regna Ferox, and they would gain the needed troops. 

Sparrow sighs at bit, having not expected such a curious leadership style, but supposed they should be thankful that battle is at least something they’re  _ good  _ at. As they leave the throne room and collect the others, Sparrow quickly makes sure to hide by Stahl in order to avoid any more terrible disasters. 

They make their way to the colosseum, having little time to spare, and there’s a small gasp that the group shares when it comes into view. It’s colossal, imposing, and seems to be in better shape than the castle itself. Sparrow can only wonder what sort of opponent they would have to face.

Flavia informs them that the tournament doesn’t begin till later that evening as she guides them to where they’re able to rest and train, should they desire. She leaves Chrom with a strong clap on the back and the promise of a meal. She leaves Sparrow with a wink that causes her to flush again. 

The Shepherds set to work immediately, warming stiff joints and stretching any tired muscles. Sparrow joins Miriel to practice her own magic and tries to work through the array of extended words Miriel uses to explain anything. While Sparrow has finally stopped burning her hands when using tomes, any extra advice is always welcome, and Miriel seems to be all she has. Besides, the mage also needs some help with her defence.  

Sparrow breaks from training after their meal to plot with Chrom, as well as on her own, who best to send out for the tournament. She half debates just sending Frederick out to frighten them all away with his whole grumpy bear routine but has to pull that back when Chrom eyes her oddly for the chuckle the image of Frederick in a fluffy bear suit elicits from her. 

The bell and cheers signalling the beginning of the match seem to come too soon, but Sparrow is confident enough in their team to march into the area with some sort of confidence. This confidence is replaced with utter surprise when she catches sight of their main opponent. 

“Chrom! Look!” Lissa calls in awe while Chrom grinds his teeth, evidently unimpressed with their foe, though he stills makes an attempt to speak with him. Marth is persistently silent which Sparrow finds amusing, if only because of how much it irritates the usually peaceful Chrom. 

Each take their stance with their sword and it’s then that Sparrow begins to more clearly see the puzzle pieces that create Marth. (Or, at least, see their outline.) She knows little of Chrom’s sword, the Falchion, but the movement in his shoulders when he spots its twin in Marth’s hands tells her there were not meant to be two of them. Watching them fight is like witnessing a mirrored image waging war against itself. It almost seems practiced with their steps and moves replaying so beautifully off of each other. 

_ He’s like a mini Chrom _ … Sparrow thinks idly and she wonders if Chrom’s father had another son he failed to tell the rest of his family about. It seems unlikely, as did two Chroms, but a giant red circle that dropped evil creatures into a forest seems just as unlikely and that actually happened, so perhaps she didn’t have the right to judge. She starts to cycle through the rest of the information gathered on Marth to try and create a clear image, but she finds she has more pressing matters to attend to when the rest of Marth’s team arrives and one is half a foot from driving an axe into her side.

They get their win - despite a couple close calls - their troops, and a party, but Frederick refuses to let anything mar his reputation of being a fun ruiner and recommends they leave straight away.

Basilio manages to catch them before they go to leave and they also gain a new Shepherd, Lon’qu, who Sparrow finds, overall, quite fascinating. She also finds him handsome but that is neither here nor there, especially when he doesn’t seem particularly fond of womens’ company. 

They make their goodbyes and an attempt to leave for home, but Flavia finds them as they reach the door and demands they stay.

“The feast is already on the table! Would you have me celebrate alone, Prince Chrom?” She asks. There’s a playful edge to her words, but Sparrow can hear the touch of a threat that she doesn’t wish to see heightened. There’s already a drink in Flavia’s hand, though she shows no sign of being affected by it, and Sparrow can hear the inhale both Vaike and Stahl take at the idea of a feast as well as the others shifting in excitement at the prospect. It  _ is _ technically a celebration in their honour…

Frederick, however, takes his role as the wet blanket very seriously, standing stalwart as he explains, “I’m afraid we must. This alliance is important. The Exalt must know of it immediately.”

“Surely you can spare an evening? Night is nearly upon us. Or would you prefer the Feroxi winter to a grand party?” Flavia counters, her posture mimicking the “no nonsense” vibe Frederick’s has, but with a touch more flair, and Sparrow finds herself agreeing completely. Why must Frederick always insist on refusing hospitality?

(Something in her mumbles about speed and a priority of duty, but Sparrow is too busy mentally writing up a list of ways to refuse marching in the snow to listen.)

Chrom doesn’t appear to be convinced either way and Sparrow feels the Shepherds optimistically edging away from the door the longer his silence continues. Even Lissa gains a hopeful look as she inches towards her brother. 

“The weather is hardly what it was last night, I’m sure we could at least make it to the Longfort before we needed to break for camp.” Frederick replies, his tone taking a stricter quality, and this time Sparrow hears Vaike give a low groan. Sparrow mirrors his mood, though she makes sure to paint an image of neutrality on her face, despite her annoyance at their snow sealed fate.

Sparrow’s ready to turn and find Stahl to ensure her place beside his horse, when she hears Chrom hum, and looks at him in surprise. Apparently still unsure, if his furrowed brows were to be trusted, Chrom makes no decisive move in either direction. Flavia goes to make another attempt at convincing the indecisive prince, but it’s then that Chrom turns to Sparrow, and everyone else’s gazes quickly follow. Sparrow feels pin pricks of discomfort climbing up her spine at the feeling of everyone’s absolute attention and belatedly realizes Chrom is looking to her for some sort of opinion.

(Does she really have the right to give one?)

Sparrow makes sure to make a show of appearing to mull over the choices in her head, to give herself the air of being unbiased, but she knows immediately which path she is going to take. She also knows that Frederick isn’t going to like it.

“A feast couldn’t hurt,” she says slowly, a small smile growing on her face when she hears the subdued cheers coming from the Shepherds, “We fill our bellies with food meant for the strongest of warriors tonight and I’m sure we’ll be able to make it back to Ylisstol within the day tomorrow.” 

Chrom continues to watch her, even when the rest turn back to him to await his final decision. She gives one last hint of a shrug, there were certainly worse things that could delay them, and finally his gaze breaks, dropping to the ground with a head shake and a smile of his own. He turns to Flavia then and nods his acceptance, “It’s seems we have no choice. Lead the way, Khan Flavia!”  

Vaike is immediately on her, one arm wrapped tight around her shoulders and he cheers for her loudly before chanting  _ Feast! Feast! Feast!  _ as Flavia laughs. 

“Good! I would hate to think of you as a selfish lover, Prince Chrom.” She teases, causing Chrom to go a rather bright shade of pink. “Getting what you want and leaving with hardly a word goodbye? Surely that’s not how the Yllissean people are taught to treat those who help them, hmm?”

“Of-Of course not!” Chrom stammers, his cheeks darkening even more when Flavia leans in close. She gets her fill of teasing Chrom when he begins to fidget and avert his gaze and steps back to throw her head back in laughter. 

“That’s what I thought! Let’s go!” Flavia claps her hand to his back once more and happily begins to lead the way. Almost all the Shepherds quickly fall in line behind her, though Chrom stalls to rub at his face in what Sparrow could only assume is embarrassment, but even he is forced forward by a smirking Vaike shoving his elbow in his gut. Sparrow pauses in joining them, but only so she can quell the bear still standing resolute in the doorway. 

“It would take us two days to return home regardless, Sir Frederick.” Sparrow reminds him, making sure to keep her gentle and easy going appearance, “You said so yourself, this alliance is important. Staying here and celebrating helps Chrom form better bonds with the new Khan.”

He still seems unconvinced and suspicious so Sparrow finds herself sighing, breaking her facade just enough to ensure she keeps some level of trust with the frowning man, “I also really, really, really didn’t want to go marching through the snow at night, okay?” 

This appeases Frederick enough that he steps away from the door, but he still pauses when he reaches her side, gaze stern as he says in a low voice, “He already highly values your opinion. Do not abuse this power.” 

Sparrow feels her hands snap shut into a fist and is vaguely surprised at the irritation that builds in her at this implication. She holds on replying, she doesn’t like making promises, but keeps his gaze with narrowed eyes. She never asked for the trust Chrom has given her, but that doesn’t mean she desires to break it. 

“That’s not my intention,” she says stiffly, almost petulantly she realizes later with a wince, but for some reason this relaxes Frederick, who chuckles and shakes his head. They’re interrupted from any further discussion by Chrom calling for them, but Sparrow still dawdles behind the knight, suspicious of his sudden change in demeanour. Had her childishness won him over? It seems too odd to be true. Chrom’s voice cuts through any dwelling thoughts and she pushes forward with a bright grin, reminding herself that no one was ever supposed to be  _ down _ at a party. 

Sparrow learns a great deal that night - mainly to never challenge Flavia, or anyone from Regna Ferox for that matter, to a drinking match. The Gods would NOT be smiling on Vaike the next day… - though hardly any of it has anything to do with battle strategy.

Several of them drink too much, herself included after Vaike drags her in to help him tag team Flavia, though they still do not come close to winning. Stahl dances on several table tops, Sully beats six different soldiers at an arm wrestling competition, and at one point Lissa spends a solid fifteen minutes staring adoringly at a fidgeting Lon’qu, her face cradled in her hands. (Lon’qu is eventually rescued by a singing Basilio, who drags him up to parade him around the tables and to give a rather extended goodbye.)

Sparrow puts herself to bed when she finds her vision has blurred more than she would like it to and when she wakes, she vaguely recalls running into someone’s chest just before making it to her room. The memory is foggy but she does manage to remember they smelled very nice. Part of her believes it was Chrom. The rest of her prays it wasn’t. Especially when the fogginess of her memory clears enough that she recalls the fact she half cuddled into the chest before she realized it was  _ not _ her bed. 

The morning march is terrible. Frederick has it out for them, deciding they need a marching chant to keep their spirits high and refuses to allow anyone to decline. Sparrow makes sure to keep some distance from the knight as she is unsure she will be unable to keep the irritation off her face if he were to look at her.

The afternoon march wanes in terribleness, but only when Stahl shares with her and Sully some jerky he finds hidden in his bag. Chrom also finds her, retreating away from the ever stalwart, and hangover free, Frederick, and gives her a tired smile. She takes pity on the poor prince and decides to give him the last bit of her jerky. It’s worth it for the delighted laugh she gets in return.

When they finally arrive in Ylisstol the sunset is fast approaching and her feet are ready to declare a mutiny. It feels like they’re hardly able to take half a breath before they’re spinning around and preparing to leave on another march, this time to rescue Maribelle being held captive by some “Mad King” named Gangrel. (Sparrow isn’t entirely sure who this Mad King is but she knows she hates him with every fibre of her being for forcing her to march again.) She briefly wonders if she’ll be able to avoid going, the exalt surely has tacticians and advisors of her own. She already has her own knights. But, when Chrom makes his declaration of protection he turns to her with a decided look and she knows she’s doomed. (She at least manages to mirror his dedication in her returning nod even if she truly does not feel it. Surely she isn’t needed on this? Parleys weren’t meant to end in bloodshed, were they?) 

She feels better after she follows Chrom to the garrison and he announces that  _ everyone _ will be going. Before they can make a word of complaint, Lissa quickly explains the circumstances and the only sound that comes after is the hurried sound of packing and calls for spare weapons. (Sparrow personally sees to shoving an extra axe in Vaike’s arms when she spots him moving for the door.) 

She desperately wants to sleep but the road they’re taking is one of the main ones, so it’s well maintained and, with the addition of Phila’s knights and the exalt herself, going to be well lit, allowing them to make a good start into the mountains. She remembers from her night studying the map that there’s a small rest part way in that she assumes they’ll stop at to make camp before continuing on to the border in the morning. If they try going any farther she just might have to take Stahl up on his offer of his horse. 

“Well then? Is everyone ready to go? It's a long march through the western mountains to the Plegian border.” Chrom calls out to them, just before the castle gates. The exalt stands flanked by her knights behind them with the caravan following that. The present shepherds give a call of recognition, as well as a new one that rushes onto the scene. 

He’s small, even smaller than her which is entirely new. It’s only by an inch at best but Sparrow is pleased nonetheless. His help is refused, the more fatherly side of Chrom coming out as he instructs the younger mage, Ricken, to stay behind and “guard” the garrison. Sparrow can’t help but briefly imagine Chrom as a father and finds the image cuter than she would like and quickly opts to turn her mood sour by thinking about the damned mountains she would soon have to climb. 

(The image of a smiling Chrom cradling a baby still flashes in her mind several times when she makes the unfortunate mistake of looking at him through the march.) 

They make it just over halfway to where Sparrow hopes they’ll make camp for the night when both the exalt and Lissa get brought onto a pegasus, accompanied by one of Phila’s Pegasus Riders. Sparrow assumes it’s only due to the late hour - the moon was rising quite steadily - but soon discovers it’s due to the abrupt and terrible hike in terrain the map she had read did  _ not _ warn her about. As she eyes the very sharp incline she can’t pull back the small whimper that sounds from her and Frederick shoots her a rather smug and amused look she refuses to reply to.  _ He _ is on a horse,  _ he  _ does not get to judge her. 

Chrom, after returning from aiding his sisters in mounting the pegasi, seems to sense her hesitation, she has full out stopped at the base of the hill, and gently takes her elbow to encourage her forward.

“Come on, it’s not as bad as it looks,” he says with a small grin. When she returns his gaze with a very, very doubtful stare he chuckles and amends himself. “Okay, it’s pretty bad. But we’ll break for camp soon, I promise.” 

Sparrow gives a low whine but begins to trudge up the Hill of Death anyways, eyeing with great envy the pegasi as they fly above her. (Why didn’t  _ she  _ get to have a romantic pegasus ride with Sumia? They could watch the others struggle as they flew without a care under the moonlight. Why was it only Chrom who got to be so special?) She slips twice, Vaike full on face plants when he stops climbing to laugh at her and subsequently trips himself, and she’s not proud of the shriek that arises both times. Thankfully Chrom, for whatever reason, still has a good hold on her arm and manages to stop her from fully slamming into the dirt. 

“Gods, you might have to carry me.” Sparrow grumbles under her breath, trying to ignore the sharp pain vibrating from her knee. She’s not expecting Chrom to catch it, but he does, and  an easy laugh sounds from him. (Is he even out of  _ breath _ ?) Before he can reply they’re both distracted by an undignified yelp coming from  _ Miriel _ of all people. She says a great deal of words as she rights herself, pushing her glasses back on her face with the dignity of a queen, but Sparrow is sure they’re just fancy curses. Sully, with a cheeky grin, offers her horse as a balancing aid - all the riders had dismounted and were leading their horses so Sparrow feels slightly less annoyed at Frederick - which Miriel happily accepts and they all make it up the hill with no more mishaps. 

Lissa greets them all with a bright grin when they throw themselves over the crest of the hill. She goes to tease them, Sparrow is sure, but she can feel the warning look Chrom sends Lissa’s way, so the girl simply falls into a pout instead. 

Sparrow decides to ignore the sulking princess, trudging forward enough to ensure she is out of the way of anyone following her, before she allowing herself relax into relief. She gets to have five full minutes to catch her breath as they have to wait on the caravan to make its own way up the hill and she’s never been more pleased to be in such a large company. She hears Frederick guiding them and expects Chrom to go to his aid so he surprises her when his voice sounds next to her ear. 

“Are you alright to keep going?” Chrom asks, gently grabbing her arm again. Sparrow can feel another’s gaze on her and in her awkward turn, half wondering if he was talking to someone else, she notices Emmeryn watching the two of them with a curious expression. Sparrow quickly finds herself feeling self-conscious, the look the exalt bears makes the whole interaction seem embarrassing, so she shrugs his hand off in a terrible attempt at what she’s sure is meant to be a bow. 

“I’m fine, Chrom. Don’t worry about me,” she insists, gentle but firm, with a placating smile painted on her face. She doesn’t need or want any extra attention from anyone, something in her bristiling and perceiving it as a threat. Chrom doesn’t seem insulted, and just smiles away like she had told him his hair looked nice. (Which it did, but that was beside the point.)

“Good. It won’t be long now!” He reaches out again but this time he claps her shoulder so strongly it almost knocks her over. Sparrow finds she feels oddly better afterwards, even if it feels like there is a new bruise forming, as she watches Chrom go to his sister. He was simply worrying over a fellow Shepherd, one of the troops. She’s new, after all, her stamina is a mystery to all, so of course he’d check in on her. Nothing more than that.

This relaxed feeling is immediately decimated when she overhears Emmeryn gently sigh and patches of their following conversation, “I’m sorry, Chrom. This is terrible… and with your birthday so near…”

Sparrow is sure Chrom replies with some sort of gallantry but she’s become much too busy panicking over his birthday to pay any attention to him speaking. Why did he have to be such a pain?! A  _ birthday _ ? At this time? They were practically at war and Chrom has the nerve to have a  _ birthday _ !?

A low level panic, paired with childish annoyance, sparks in Sparrow and she finds she hardly has the energy to react with annoyance when Frederick cheerfully calls for them to begin moving again. A  _ birthday?!  _ Safely dealing with royals is challenge enough, birthdays and gifts only added another level of complication for gifts were generally used to show intimacy and relationship. To pick a proper gift for Chrom, a royal she has only just met, is going to be a trouble she does not have the time to deal with.

She ends up entirely too focused on this train of thought and Vaike actually has to grab her to stop of her from nearly marching straight off the road’s edge. Considering it was a sharp and sudden fall into a series of rapids, this would not have boded well for the tactician or for the rest of them. Apparently her dazed reply of, “Huh?” after being yelled at to pay attention garners some sympathy and the exalt calls for them to break for camp. 

Where they break is small, nothing more than a portion of cliff manually carved out to give way for tents and carriages, and quite rocky, but Sparrow is quite ready to simply sleep on the ground. She makes a show of attempting to put up her tent regardless. She’s not entirely sure  _ how _ one puts up a tent, but the others were farther off and making quick work of it so she decides it couldn’t be all that hard. Although, she ends up spending more time muttering to herself about Chrom than actually setting anything up.

“Now, what would he want more than anything? Hmm… Maybe a sword? Wait. What am I thinking? He already owns the most treasure sword of all…” She mutters aloud, and while sorting out the poles, she unknowingly collects the attention of one Stahl who cheerfully greets her.

“Heya, Sparrow! You thinking up a birthday present for old man Chrom?” He’s awfully happy for someone just coming off a march and Sparrow finds herself unwittingly joining in his mood.

“He’s hardly “old,” Stahl…” She playfully chides him, finally succeeding in yanking out the final pole. She brushes her hair from her face and stands with a small huff of exertion, “But yes, I am. And to be honest, I’m at a bit of a loss for ideas.”

“Ha! Isn’t that a pickle,” he returns, as casual as a lamb. Or, other some such creature… Sparrow finds she’s too tired to properly try and attempt any sort of idiom. She still sends him a small glare, but there’s no heat. He brings about an ease in her and she’s no wish to drive him away. He still gives her a cheeky grin but he apologizes by stepping forward to aid in her tent predicament. 

“Buying for royalty would be hard enough, but we’re in the middle of a war. It’d have to be small, to transport easily with the caravan, and nothing excessive…” Sparrow relays with a sigh, hoisting and driving the first pole into the ground. While they weren’t at war  _ yet, _ with how Gangrel was spoken of, she knows one is not far off. No matter how peaceful Emmeryn’s desires. 

“Yeah, cheap is good.” Stahl agrees, taking the other poles and setting them up within seconds. “Chrom’s never been much for gold and glitter, anyway. I was actually thinking of brewing up a special concoction for him.”

He says the last bit with a small chirp, a sign of pride that is subdued and humble. Sparrow brightens, amazed nonetheless, “You mean like a potion or tonic? I didn’t know you dabbled in such!”

“My father is an apothecary, and he taught me the trade.” Stahl tells her as they begin sorting out the cloth and fastening it over their previous work. He’s still humble, but she can read in his tone a love for his father and the work he did and she finds herself grinning at him.

“Homemade gifts are always the best! Would that I possessed any such talents…” Sparrow sighs through the last part. She knows only strategy and wars, neither of which translate well into gifts. It’s hardly as though she could approach Chrom with a battle plan and tell him  _ Happy birthday!  _ no matter how helpful it would be.

They finally finish in pitching her tent and Sparrow takes a step back to admire it, pleased to know she would not be at the complete mercy of the elements, and turns to begin gathering her trace belongings that hardly belong to her at all. The Shepherds had been kind and gifted her all the necessary bedding and she had nabbed a couple new battle histories from the garrison shelves. Her only true belongings are the clothes on her back and the small pebbles she found when inspecting her cloak for clues to her identity. (She kept both; the pebbles were pretty.)

“Er, say.” Stahl starts awkwardly, pulling unnecessarily at the cloth, “My ingredients are quite costly and difficult to find in the wild…”

Sparrow moves to the front of the tent so she can eye him. She can tell by tone alone what he’s asking, but simply wants to double check his posture (modest and shy) before offering, “Perhaps I could help gather them?”

“Yes, exactly!” He says with relief, his grin retuning. “Then the present could be from both of us.”

“Perfect! We can solve both our problems in one fell swoop!” She can’t help but mirror his grin, as this truly did relieve her of a great deal of stress. A joint homemade gift is  _ perfect _ for Chrom. It shows fondness and thought, but does not come off as overbearing. And joining Stahl, one who has known Chrom for a great deal longer than her, gives her some comfort in regards to whether it would suit his taste. Stahl is truly a gifted and kind man. 

“Then it’s a deal,” he says, offering his hand. She pauses and stares at it briefly before her weary brain manages to shuffle through the necessary information and tell her she was to shake it to solidify the contract.

Of course.  

She takes his hand and they give one firm shake before she gives him one more smile and a bid good night. She watches him go, half heartedly organizing in her head where it seemed everyone was staying as she watched him, before a yawn overtakes her and she turns to finally,  _ finally,  _ make her way to bed. Or, at least,  _ make _ her bed. The battle histories were heavy in her bag and would not read themselves after all.

Sparrow’s only a  _ little _ annoyed and not at all surprised when she wakes the next morning and finds her lovingly made bed  _ empty _ , her cheek partly numb, and the text blurry from drool.

She decides to blame Gangrel completely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was 100% Chrom she ran into and cuddled B)  
> also, Sparrow's appearance: Sparrow is the small version of Robin, with the first type of pink hair that's long and with fringe bangs and the bows. She also have freckles c':  
> Also I will admit now the timeline and how long it takes to get places was my constant nemesis but I tried my Best  
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	4. The Build Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 ; Chrom and Frederick’s C Support (a portion) ; Chrom and Robin’s C Support

When she properly blinks herself awake, Sparrow is slow in removing herself from her desk. Her bitterness at sleeping there brings a petulant look to her face and she only begrudgingly begins to take down her tent when she hears Frederick calling for it. Stahl helps her with this as well, when he passes her on his way to breakfast and notices the frown that persists in spoiling her face. He asks - of course, he is a kind man- if she slept well and she shakes her head, surprising herself with her honesty. “I fell asleep reading one of the books I brought…” 

Sparrow feels herself falling back into the pout she shook off when she first heard Stahl’s voice, and works on shifting back into at least a more neutral disposition, but is startled out of even that when Stahl laughs at her. She blinks at him, unable to hold back her confusion, and his expression softens into a shy smile. “Sorry, it’s just… You seem like such a calm and collected person. Imagining you falling asleep reading a book is… Well, it’s cute.” 

Sparrows feels the blush forming on her face long before she manages to force herself to look back at the tent. She gives a few huffs but is unable to form a proper defence as her brain is still stuttering over the word “cute”. Stahl doesn’t require any response anyways. He keeps his easy going smile as he finishes rolling the cloth up before patting her sympathetically on the shoulder, “Be sure to rest! We need our tactician in top shape after all.”

She nods, but refuses to promise anything. He doesn’t take it to heart and leaves with a wave when they both hear Sully calling for him. The group all pack up swiftly, Frederick takes some pity on her when he catches her struggling to heave her tent into the back of a carriage and grabs it for her, and begin their march before the sky can even finish painting itself entirely blue.

The march itself is quiet, no one wanting to bring any unwanted attention on themselves, and Sparrow almost finds herself asleep on her feet. This, of course, doesn’t play into her benefit, as she ends up slamming  _ hard _ into Chrom’s back when he suddenly stops. She rights herself with a petulant grumble, leaving one hand on the centre of his back as she says, “While I will gladly follow your back until my dying day, I really wish I didn’t run into it quite so often.” 

When Chrom turns to her, there’s a small blush forming over a startled expression that she can’t quite figure out but one of Phila’s knights gives the call to halt to the rest of the group before she can really try. They’ve arrived at the designated meeting ground and Sparrow peeks around Chrom to get a better view of it. Their road puts them at the base of the next mountain, which is hardly to their favour, but as she continues to survey it, she finds the land isn’t so steep it would hamper their movements too terribly. 

Sparrow gives a pleased hum when she finishes plotting out their best battle strategy and when she looks back at Chrom she finds him still watching her with a rather peculiar expression. She just grins. 

“Just getting ready, that’s all.” Sparrow tells him and he returns her grin with his first chuckle of the day before turning to face the “Mad King” now approaching them. 

The parley goes about as well as Sparrow thought it would. As soon as Gangrel speaks she feels they are doomed, for his words give no sign of respect, remorse, or willingness to discuss just about anything in a reasonable fashion. The dark dressed woman at his side, Aversa as she introduces herself, behaves no better and Maribelle, who is thankfully unharmed, makes sure to tell Aversa  _ exactly _ what she thinks of her. 

Sparrow feels herself jolt a bit at the mention of the Fire Emblem, though the word elicits no new memories. She still finds herself growing restless but this energy is quickly put to good use when Chrom launches forward and  _ stabs _ one of the brigands who rush the exalt on Gangrel’s command. Sparrow can’t say it’s how she was expecting this war to begin, but she supposes it had to come about in sort sort of fashion. 

Phila’s Pegasus Knights quickly form a circling shield around the exalt, guiding Emmeryn to a safe distance from the newly crowned battlefield and Sparrow is quite thankful she only has  _ two _ royals to worry about keeping alive. 

The battle is a bit harrowing, with a couple sets of reinforcements arriving before they manage to reach and take out their commander, who simply idled and mocked them from the top of the hill. But they all come out safe, including Maribelle, from whom Sparrow receives a rather fumbling thank you when all is said and done. Sparrow accepts it, mostly amused at how reluctant Maribelle sounds when she speaks it, though Sparrow believes Maribelle truly owed all her thanks to Ricken.

Ricken had appeared in the nick of time, when Aversa had been closing in on the restrained Maribelle and managed to free her. They were both a way off from the rest of the Shepherds, but thanks to Sumia’s swift riding and Ricken’s quick thinking, the two stayed safe and also helped them win the battle. Sparrow is sure to give him a bright smile and a pat on the shoulder when she crosses his path next. She’s not sure if she would have been brave enough to march through the mountains alone. 

She moves to find Chrom, all who were injured had rested and healed and were now ready to go, and finds him bowing his head to his sister. “Forgive me, Emm. I acted rashly.”

While she agrees with him, it really wasn’t the  _ brightest _ plan, there were few other options he could have entertained. The exalt agrees with this and soothes him before they’re all being instructed to begin their march home as war is on their doorstep. This time the exalt leads the way, her knights keeping close guard, and the Shepherds fall in behind. Their enemy now stands behind them so the Shepherds need to be a firm barrier between any who would try and hurt Emmeryn.

Chrom falls in step beside Sparrow with a dejected sigh. It seems his sister’s words have not sunk in as much as she had hoped and Sparrow eyes him briefly before letting out a loud and thoughtful hum, clasping her hands behind her back and moving her gaze so she could watch the sky above them. 

“In my completely unprofessional opinion, inciting an assassin to murder a kingdom’s ruler is a much more serious declaration of war than killing said assassin.” Her head falls to the side and she can see Chrom’s wide eyed expression. “Just a thought.”

There’s several moments of deliberation as he takes this in, but he’s soon responding with a bright grin and a “Thank you” and the rest of the trip feels like a merry stroll. Especially when Vaike trips going down the Hill of Death as well and all the Shepherds have to pause for a good few minutes because they’re all laughing too hard. Lissa, at least, greets him at the bottom of the hill (he’d rolled almost the entire way down) with less laughter and more of an annoyed pout and groan. She gives him a good scolding while healing him and Maribelle also gives him a firm whack with her own staff when she passes him later to remind him to thank the princess for taking such valuable time out of her day to heal a vagabond like himself. (Vaike, Sparrow is sure, tunes her out not three words into her sentence.) 

When they finally reach the capital, they are greeted heartily by the citizens, and Sparrow watches, intrigued, as Emmeryn’s whole demeanour shifts to one of absolute calm in order to appease the townspeople that quickly fall in line beside her. She offers no words, which Sparrow also finds fascinating, but the townsfolk don’t seem bothered by this and allow them all to reach the castle with little in the way of distraction.

At the castle Sparrow goes to return with the rest of the Shepherds to the garrison, but Chrom catches her arm and tells her with a decisive tug that she is to follow him to, what she can only assume to be, the council room. She feels the seed of panic growing in her stomach sprout into a sharp rose and slows her gait when they approach the door. While she’s happy to advise the Shepherds, she knows she is hardly fit to offer advice on this large a scale. 

She pauses fully as soon as they reach it, her eyes flickering over to Chrom’s with more nervousness than she would like to express, and he tightens in grip in what she’s sure he meant to be a reassuring act. 

“You’re our tactician, Sparrow, you’re allowed to be here.” He’s smiling again, like the night he first told her she had his army, and Sparrow is once more unable to refuse him. She finds she hates what she is willing to do for him but is given little time to grouse over this as Chrom opens the door and the two of them enter the room together. 

There’s quite a few of them: Emmeryn, Chrom, Frederick, Phila, and a couple more she doesn’t recognize, though she notes their garb and waits to hear their station so she could properly classify them. When she’s properly in the room, Sparrow gives them all a short bow to show deference, any perceived impudence would only result in a higher level of indignation at her presence, and she’s accepted in with little argument. 

She’s immediately drawn to the map at the centre of the room, it’s  _ much _ prettier than the scrap of paper she had studied in the garrison, and focuses primarily on that, mapping out the potential routes Gangrel could take and where his armies would most likely attack. The others’ chatter becomes ambient noise to her, though she picks up the more useful scraps of information they discuss. 

They seem to believe Gangrel is going to attack within the  _ day _ , but something in Sparrow doubts that. He may be the Mad King, but everything she’s seen from him so far shows an aptitude for planning and thought. She has to give credit where credit is due, for while attacking the Feroxi borders posed as Yliessans may not be the most elegant of plans, it still worked in his favour and definitely hindered them. The same is true for the incident with Maribelle. How he had it planned meant he came out with a prize no matter what, whether it was a war, the Fire Emblem (which she needs to study soon), or Emmeryn dead on the floor. 

And even if it wasn’t the Mad King who thought these things out,  _ someone  _ on his team is creating a grand portrait and one could never underestimate what they would do in order to see it finished. 

“I don’t think he’ll attack quite so quickly.” Sparrow finally chimes in, the map properly memorized and organized in her head. “He’s rash, but not stupid. I think we do have a small portion of time before he launches a full scale attack. If we secure the borders that give him the easiest access to the capital, where small scale groups are most likely to attack, I think we should have enough time to prepare ourselves to march to Regna Ferox and get our support with little in way of distraction.”

Phila gives her a condescending look, hidden behind a firm frown, and straightens her back. “You make it sound as if he knows we have them on our side.”

“You should never assume your enemy is dumb as you think.” She tells her, the words coming out a little strange. Sparrow wonders who it is she is parroting while she continues, “Unless you are certain, always believe they know every one of your weaknesses. It helps you to plan better.” 

Phila seems slightly taken aback at being spoken back too, and Sparrow hesitates in continuing, but from the corner of her eye she notices an almost proud smirk flash across Frederick’s face. She lets that in and allows herself to stop pacing and make a better stand, “While I agree the Mad King is likely to attack  _ soon _ , I believe he will need some time to properly rally his armies. Any troops that do attack are likely to be smaller since they already need to be mobilized, and will probably focus on any weaknesses in the borders we have. If we make a firm show of defence at our borders, it will probably delay any full scale attack so Gangrel can find the easiest way in. This gives us time to organize our other troops  _ and _ collect the supporting troops from Regna Ferox.” 

She has to take a small breath at the end, she isn’t used to speaking quite so much at once, and when she meets the other’s eyes there still seems to be some deliberation. Chrom, of course, chimes in with his agreement quite quickly, which reassures the exalt so the rest have little to say. 

They agree to take a few days to collect themselves, and decide on which troops to send out to the border spots most likely to be hit. Sparrow discovers there’s even  _ more _ pegasus riders than she thought and watches in awe when a group of them fly out to their station.   
  


As for the Shepherds, Sparrow has to internally sigh her way through several lengthy complaints from them as they’re all forced to remain stationary. Chrom is needed to help rally the other troops, which means the Shepherds must remain at the Garrison until they can set out for Regna Ferox again, something that Vaike makes several vocal protests over. (Sparrow starts tuning him out after his third rant.) 

Sparrow is quite grateful for the rest, as it gives them all time to recuperate and train for the upcoming battles. She also needs the time to evaluate everyone’s level and better asses how to utilize them in battle. Vaike quiets down at this at bit, if only because he’s found a new target to pester. (Sparrow watches a flustered and baffled Lon’qu escape Vaike’s attention on a few occasions.) 

It’s late in the afternoon when Sparrow returns to her room after her own attempted training session with their newest Shepherd. She’s not sure she could really call it combat training as all she had been able to do when facing him is throw her collection of figs. The man was  _ dead _ set on her staying as far away from him as possible and Sparrow needed to hit him  _ somehow _ . Sparrow can’t help the small pout on her face as she recalls this as the regret in her is strong. 

Lon’qu’s talents were beyond her previous expectations, so he had been able to dodge every fig, turning them all into casualties, lost and bruised on the dirt of the training field. The poor figs. 

Sparrow gives a small sigh as she pushes open her door. Nabbing them from the kitchen had been no small feat and now the only one able to enjoy them is going Stahl’s horse. 

Sparrow shakes her head to clear away these upsetting thoughts before depositing her sword and tome onto the table. It’s as she stretches her sore arms forward that something in her peripherals catch her attention, and she turns to her right. She doesn’t complete her turn however, as her entire body stalls not half way through it.

There, sprawled across a good section of the far right wall of her room, is a poster of Chrom. A very large poster of a very  _ naked _ Chrom. Her eyes flicker across it, unsure of what to take in and  _ how _ to take it exactly. He’s very much naked, his posture being the only thing to really cover up any… private areas. The sword he carries does help a touch, but the way he’s carrying it causes it to be almost useless. There’s also a scale in his left hand that she’s unable to make heads or tails of and when her eyes finally fall to the bottom she finds the words  _ CHROM WANTS YOU!  _ staring back at her. 

She blinks. Several times, in fact. 

“Chrom wants…? For  _ what _ ?” She whispers in absolute disbelief. Her mind finally decides it’s time to click into action and runs through the various answers it can think of. The most logical one it ends with is that this is some sort of love confession, and before she can even begin to parse  _ that _ out, Chrom himself comes flying in the room with hardly a knock or word hello. 

They meet each other’s gaze for a good few moments, Chrom’s expression one of absolute terror while Sparrow is sure her’s is simply one of quiet bafflement. When it seems Chrom won’t be able to find any coherent words, Sparrow decides to start an awkward rejection, her eyes flickering between him and the poster. “Uhm. Chrom.. I, uh, appreciate your feelings and the, uh…. thought. But I don’t… think it's a good idea for us to.. I mean, we just met... we don't know each other that well…” 

While it  _ is _ flattering in a sense, the idea of entering a relationship with Chrom is also rather terrifying. Sparrow finds herself already bowing under the expectations she’s carrying. Adding this sort of relationship with her general would not only be frowned upon, but a heavy, heavy burden. 

(She’s also hardly the best fit for him.)

She knows she’s not going about the rejection well, as it blindsided her completely, but Chrom thankfully interrupts her, going red as the tomatoes the kitchen staff had once caught her trying to eat. 

“That’s not what this is!” He shouts hurriedly, rushing forward to either rip or block the poster from view, she’s not sure as he does both things terribly. He ends up simply fumbling with a corner of the poster, evidently unable to get it from the wall. He also tries to explain the situation away with a loud shout, “Frederick hung this up!”

“He helped you confess?” Sparrow asks, genuinely amazed and slightly touched. She didn’t think Frederick trusted her enough to aid in such a cause. “That’s sweet of him.”

“No!” Chrom seems even more flustered now, still fighting with whatever bound the poster to the wall. “It was meant to inspire the team!”

“Inspire…?” Sparrow repeats as she returns to inspecting the poster with a whole new eye. Chrom grumbles a noise of affirmation, finally succeeding in tearing one corner off, and moves into more of an explanation that Sparrow decidedly ignores when she turns back to him and asks, “Wouldn’t this be better as promotional material?” 

Chrom’s whole body stills but Sparrow continues nonetheless, “If he wanted this to be inspirational, it would make more sense for the quote to be, ‘Chrom Thanks You!’. ‘Chrom Wants You!’ is a touch confusing considering we’re all already here. Don’t you think?” 

It takes some time for him to speak, and when he meets her gaze again she finds it to be a very odd gaze indeed. There’s no anger or shock, just an odd sense of him mentally repeating the phrase  _ you’ve got to be kidding me _ many, many times. Sparrow feels herself break a bit under it, and awkwardly sways a bit while waiting for him to speak. Eventually he manages to bring the poster down, with a rather sharp jerk, and gives her a forced smile and a bid goodbye, saying, “I’ll be sure to tell him your advice,” as he exits.

She highly doubts he will but she gives him a wave goodbye regardless. When she hears him loudly call, “FREDERICK!” not three steps from her door she can’t help the loud wave of laughter that spills from her. It seems the young prince’s guardian took some of his duties a  _ touch  _ too seriously.

Sparrow knows she won’t be able to focus on any sort of text now, so she decides to grab her sword and return to the training grounds. Perhaps Sully has some time to kill. 

Sully, it turns out, is  _ always  _ up for training and immediately shows Sparrow exactly why she is one of the most trusted (and feared) knights in the Shepherds. Sparrow manages to last a solid ten minutes before she’s flat on her back and metaphorically waving the white flag (though she does literally wave her sword while crying, “I’m down, I’m down!”) 

“Not bad! For a novice. You really need to work on your pathetic stamina.” Sully grins from above her, leaning on her lance, not a hair out of place. She’s an odd sort of beauty, pretty and handsome all at once, and from this angle, with the sun shining behind her, she’s very striking. Sparrow is pleased she’s flushed from exertion and can hide the flustered blush that tries to grow. Sully ruins the mood anyways. “Get up! You won’t kill any Plegian dogs like that!”

Sparrow grumbles from her place in the dirt, refusing to rise to the insult or to anything else. She could very well take down several Plegians from here, provided she had her tomes. And several of them in sight. Stahl, apparently, is passing them and cheers her on from the sidelines and she makes sure to raise her sword in recognition. She’s rewarded with a small and distant laugh and a curious look from Sully. 

“You already good friends? Not surprised.” Sully says with attempted ease when Stahl continues on and Sparrow clues in pretty quick.

“Just friends.” She chirps. He’s a relaxing presence for her, but Sparrow can’t imagine herself feeling anything else. “I like having him around. He’s also an excellent fighter. You and him both, it’s why I like pairing you two off.”

“He’s a good man.” Sully agrees. “He never makes you feel like lesser of a person, no matter who you are.” 

Sparrows hums in cheerful agreement, happy to watch the clouds drift above her. (She doesn’t care what Chrom thinks, the ground is an absolutely wonderful place to take a nap.) But Sully has some keen senses and when the thought of resting just begins to form in the head, the base of a lance is slamming itself beside her head. She snaps her gaze to Sully with some vague terror only to find the other woman smirking at her, “Alright, princess! Break time’s over! Let’s go again!” 

Sparrow isn’t proud of the whine that escapes her.

“Ehhhhhh?!” 

(When Sully is finished with her, Sparrow makes a very hard case about sleeping on the ground but Sully drags her up to the garrison anyways. The books in her room are much more admired than read that night as she falls into a dead sleep only half a minute after reaching her bed.)

Chrom greets her easily the next morning, a good night’s rest seeming to have prompted him out of his embarrassment from yesterday, which she returns with a small smile. Frederick, however, trails around the Shepherds with a dejected look. Sparrow makes sure to pat his arm in a show of sympathy when she passes him after breakfast. 

She keeps away from Sully during practice, though she seems very content to badger Stahl, the two of them discussing some “Bull” and “Panther”, and works primarily with both Ricken and Miriel. Sparrow manages to earn herself a scalding lecture despite her heartfelt attempts at the proper safety techniques, though this time it’s from Maribelle, and it’s due to Sparrow accidentally burning her hands with her magic with a new spell. When she’s properly bandaged, and Maribelle has finished with her sharp words, Sparrow tries to insist on some more training, but she is quicky shooed off by more than one of the Shepherds.

Chrom catches her as she makes her way to the entrance of the garrison, he’d been called to discuss certain matters with his sister earlier that day, and asks, “Finished with training for today, Sparrow?” 

“With combat practice, yes.” In a manner of speaking. She makes sure to hide her bandaged hands within her sleeves. “But I thought I might review a few battle histories…”

The books from last night still need to be read and she needs to do some research on the Fire Emblem itself. She would feel better knowing exactly what it is they were fighting over. Chrom frowns at her plan and steps forward a touch, “You should relax a bit. Put your feet up. Experienced soldiers rest when they can. On a campaign like this, you never know when the next battle might break out.”

Sparrow gives a small laugh, she wouldn’t exactly call herself an ‘experienced’ soldier, “So I’ve noticed. With all that’s happened recently, we’ve barely had time to even eat.” It’s something Stahl has noted on  _ numerous _ occasions.

“It’s been a tough road, to be sure. And it’s only going to get harder.” He gives a small sigh at the end and she knows he’s already adding more weight than he need to onto his shoulders. She gives a small smile and tries to reassure him as well as she can. 

“I do try and rest when I can, though. A lady needs her beauty sleep, after all.” She says the last bit mostly as a joke as she doesn’t care a great deal for her looks. (It had taken her nearly three days to discover she had two small ribbons decorating her hair and this was only after she attempted to run her hands through it and ended up yanking on something much larger than a knot. There had been a small yelp but Lissa was close by and came to her aid with a hairbrush. She opted to keep the ribbons in, a memento of sort, and is now careful to never mindlessly run her hands near her scalp.) And she also doesn’t keep a schedule that would aid any sort of beauty but when she glances back to Chrom, he has a look of incredulity she finds her eyes narrowing at. “… What? Did I say something?”

“Er, no… No, it’s nothing.” He fumbles and Sparrow finds her suspicions growing. “It’s just that… Well, I just didn’t consider you the type to care after beauty and such… I suppose I’ve never really thought of you as a lady.”

…  _ What? _

“Excuse me?!” She cries. More startled than hurt. If he didn’t see her as a lady, what exactly is she? 

“No! I mean-I didn’t mean-not like that! That is to say, a “lady,” per se… Er… You know, how you fight and strategize, and… Not to say a lady can’t fight, but… Gods, this is coming out all wrong.” He’s floundering and embarrassed and Sparrow can’t help the look of utter bafflement that takes over her face or the touch of anger she feels growing in her chest. Was Maribelle not a lady? She fought as well as any soldier! 

“My goodness, Chrom.” She huffs, centring herself at him. “You’re the scion of a noble family, aren’t you? Didn’t they teach you manners at your fancy schools growing up?” 

She’s sure they did, she overheard Lissa complaining about it one day. That’s the only reason she knew such schools existed in the first place. It at least explained Maribelle’s perfected mannerisms, though by Chrom’s it seems he did more daydreaming than anything else. 

“Oh, gods, yes. Of course they did. We spent a whole term on etiquette.” Chrom shudders, apparently reliving past memories. Sparrow’s sure none of it sunk in as she’s hardly seen Chrom act with an extraordinary amount of refinement yet. 

“Perhaps you could use another term, this time on how to talk with a lady.” She chides him, a part of her being held strong by childish anger. While, logically, she knows she doesn’t need to be a lady in his eyes, her role only demanding him see her as a tactician, there still seems to be a part of her that wishes to be recognized as a  _ woman _ . Sparrow narrows her eyes slightly as she takes Chrom in again and belatedly wonders if he meant she didn’t give off the aura of a  _ noblewoman _ , as Maribelle often used the term and “lady” almost interchangeably.

Sparrow suddenly feels a wave of exhaustion rising in her and gives a weary sigh, quite ready to excuse the whole conversation, when Chrom decides he hadn’t dug a deep enough hole for himself.  

“It’s just my image of a lady is someone so prim and proper… perfumed and pretty… Nothing like you at all! When I look at you, I just don’t see a “lady.” Does that-Er, Sparrow? What… What are you doing with that rock?” He seems reasonably proud of his explanation, naively believing it was actually  _ kinder _ than simply walking off, until he catches her hands closing around and bringing out one of the rocks she kept stashed in her pockets.

“I’m thinking a sharp blow to the head might help fix your eyesight!” She shouts, though she knows she could never actually strike him. She does jerk her hand and he stumbles back with his hands in the air. 

N-no, wait! It was just a joke! Ha ha… ha? …Gotta go!” He actually scampers off and Sparrow finds herself in the company of even  _ more  _ disbelief. 

“I don’t believe it. The little craven actually ran away!” Sparrow says to no one but herself. The stone suddenly feels heavy in her hand and she brings her gaze down to it as she rubs her thumb across its smooth surface, her voice lowering to a mumble. “What kind of manners. Sheesh.”

Sparrow turns the stone over in her hand a couple times before taking a steadying inhale and looking up to where Chrom had vanished.

“Oh well.” She sighs softly. “Perhaps it’s only fair. It’s not like I see him as a gentleman, let alone some fancy noble.”

It doesn’t matter, she has to remind herself firmly as she repockets the stone. All they needed to be to each other is a tactician and general. Nothing more. 

(She still pouts into her books until dinner time nonetheless. Chrom only earns her forgiveness when he shyly and subtly offers her his dessert. While Sparrow’s long since learned she lacks the taste buds to properly appreciate food, discovered when she unflinchingly ate a raw onion to Lissa’s absolute horror, she also knows that this was a favourite of Chrom’s and it was the thought that counted when it came to gifts.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter so much I hope you do too


	5. The Clash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 + 7

Sparrow softly mumbles to herself as she makes her way to the library, running a list of what she needs to grab. Following dinner she was finally able to focus and properly take in the books she had been staring at all afternoon and she is now in need of new material.

She’s almost at the door when she notices Chrom moping in the shadows in the field below and brings herself to a stop. She automatically begins to cycle through reasons for the behaviour - he tended to keep a strict sleeping schedule - and when curiosity gets the better of her, she makes her way down the stairs and towards him. He appears caught up in worrisome thoughts, and Sparrow makes sure to gently call his name in an effort to not startle him too terribly. 

When he turns to her she knows she was right; the weight on his shoulders seems almost unbearable. He confesses several things to her, of his kingdom’s past and his own struggles with it and his relationship with his sisters. She offers no advice, only affirmations and understanding. It seemed like a heavy thing to carry and she’s glad to let him unload it, even for a brief moment. 

He’s hesitant when he mentions his plan to kill Gangrel and Sparrow is puzzled by this, for she agrees completely with this decision. Gangrel would only cease his threats when he lost the ability to speak them. Sparrow thought they already knew this, that Gangrel would have to die. Was that not the point of going to war? However, before she can speak, Marth steps from the shadows and scares her almost as badly as Kellam.

Marth’s attention goes straight to Chrom and his plan, but Sparrow hardly minds, it gives her the opportunity to better examine the enigma close up. Though, she still turns her attention back to Chrom when he looks like a scolded child at the mention of a cleft in a wall.

“You know the place, Chrom?” She asks, surprised he didn’t have it patched already. She’s even more surprised by his answer.

“Yes. I bashed in part of the wall while training the Shepherds. It's only a small hole, and I'd thought it well concealed, but…” Chrom grumbles and Sparrow simply blinks in subdued astonishment.  _ Bashed in _ ? What on earth had Chrom been doing? It explains the previous pout, at least. 

The rest of their encounters feels a bit like a bizarre dream. Or at least like the plot of one of Sumia’s favourite novels. Marth brings with him a warning and a claim of being a foreseer. One that had seen Emmeryn’s  _ death _ .

Before Sparrow can even being parsing this out, Chrom is nearly stabbed by the assassin that arrives soon after Marth’s warning. Thankfully, Marth is there to protect them, and he finishes the would be assassin off quite quickly. However, Sparrow watches as he slips on the downed killer’s sword when another throws himself from the bushes, his mask getting caught before Chrom rushes into to return the favour. 

Sparrow feels her own eyes widen in surprise as Chrom voices his, “Wait, you’re… You’re a woman?”

Marth, it turns out, is  _ quite _ the actress, as her long hair falls across her shoulders and she turns to them to speak with a voice that suited her much more. There’s little time for any explanations, though, as they’re soon rocked by an explosion sounding from somewhere in the castle.

They run to find the exalt and t’s not long till they’re in the middle of the battleground - the thieves having blasted a hole in the side of the castle to make a break for the exalt. Emmeryn pleads for Chrom and Lissa to run, but Sparrow knows nothing of the sort is about to happen and quickly organizes the Shepherds across the castle grounds as soon as they rush in to help. From her position he’s hard to see, but she notices a taller man in cleaner robes instructing the assassins and turns to Chrom and the others to inform them, shouting, “The assassins should scatter if we can defeat their leader.”

They would need several soldiers to stay close to Emmeryn to pick off any assassin that manages to slip past the others and get close, but Sparrow knows that if they simply stuck to the underlings, their leader would only call for more, so at least one of them would need to move forward and finish him off. 

The battle’s start is abrupt, and perhaps even more abruptly, they manage to gain two new allies. Three, if you count Marth keeping strict watch near one of the doors closest to Emmeryn. One makes short work of any that dare pass near her by transforming into a giant _animal_ and another she watches Chrom buy with a bag of _candy._ Sparrow finds herself respecting the thief turned Shepherd regardless. At least he knows where his values lie. 

She decides to have Chrom stick close to his sister - his mind would wander if he were to move too far from her - and moves herself ahead with Sumia, Stahl, and Sully to begin picking away at any that stood between them and the other’s leader. There’s more than she would have liked and even with their new backup, she can see the others begin to tire. When she notices a gap and the shadow of their cowardly leader, she makes a dash for him, a lightning spell already blooming in her hand. 

He’s outside, hidden from any light, and when she races down the steps and plants herself before him, he turns to her like he has all the time in the world, giving her eyes just enough time to adjust enough to read his face. His expression is first one of distaste, just the same as her dream, but it soon morphs into a type of joy that Sparrow has never seen before. It’s darker,  _ selfish. _

“Well, well…” He says softly and Sparrow feels the spell in her hand flicker and die. Her breathing turns into weak and shallow gasps as his face becomes more visible, more recognizable with each slow step he took, the moonlight inching across him. He laughs as he nears her and she finds she deeply hates this sound. “Oh, I know you…”

She grits her teeth but finds her breath is still too shallow for speech. He’s in full view now and grinning down at her.  _ And I know you  _ she wants to say. But she knows she doesn’t, she can’t, and he seems much too busy preening to spare the time to listen to her anyways. The air around his hand begins to lazily move as he calls on both a spell and to her, “Submit to me, and perhaps I might honour you with the truth!”

A searing pain starts to come from the mark that marred the back of her right hand but Sparrow finds she can’t even try and flick it away. She finds she can’t move at all. It’s not the spell, she realizes later, it is her own fear that freezes her, but she knows something is  _ wrong.  _ His laugh is echoing in her ears, even though she can see his mouth isn’t moving, and it grows louder and louder and begins to twist with the remembered laughter from the dream she had tried so hard to forget. 

She knows he is approaching, the magic he wields crackling in his hand, but she can only manage a staggering step back. The laughter is soon joined by a panicked woman’s voice calling her name, again and  _ again _ , but Sparrow knows the chill of panic has immobilized her and hopes that Chrom will be okay planning the rest of the war without her. 

_ Chrom _ …

Another voice joins in, louder, angrier, almost… petrified? She finds herself trying to focus on this new voice and forces two deep breathes in when she finally hears it in full: “ _ Sparrow!” _

Chrom’s voice shatters the other man’s hold and her and she quickly forms whatever sort of magic she can in her hand and slams it into the enemy’s chest. It’s just in time, another two steps and he would have been completely on her. Part of her wonders why he didn’t attack sooner but she pushes the thought away, refusing to muse on why one such as he would have any use for her. Sumia is quick to rush in and finish the job before the other man can speak another word to her. 

“No…” He groans, falling to his knees. The sight becomes transposed against her dream and she has to look away. “This is...all...wrong... How could...you have known the plan…”

There’s a brief moment of silence and she knows he is properly dead, but before Sumia can turn to her and see to her at all, an assassin calls out to the others and they quickly scramble away, no longer aching for their own death when they see there is no benefit before them. 

They’re unable to catch any of them, Sparrow full on watches one throw himself by her and can’t find the energy to reach out and grab his cloak, but at least their leader is dead and Emmeryn uninjured.  

She allows Sumia to guide her to where Chrom and the others are, but keeps her gaze down and her focus on her breath. It’s still shallow and stutters on occasion, but it’s coming without the choked up feeling in her lungs, so she considers it a success. Chrom catches her attention again, this time with a question, and she hums, checking if she could actually speak, before mumbling some sort of answer. She’s not sure what he expects from her. After all, she had nearly walked into her own death not three minutes ago. He leaves in a huff and she vaguely hopes he’s not angry with her. 

She’s almost managed to completely regulate her breathing when a word pulls at the weak threads of her memory and she looks out to the few people still around, “Sorry, what’s a taguel?” 

The word seems familiar, like a written script she’s seen spread across a book from before her memory began, and she’s caught off guard by the unveiled hostility shown by the taguel before her, who sneers out a cold explanation, “I am a taguel. The... The last taguel. We are shape-shifters. Most of your kind called us "beast" or "coney" in the midst of their hunt. I only helped you because my warren owes Ylisse a debt. Do not think us friends, you and I!”

Sparrow’s thrown off by this. Usually she’s able to avoid such confrontational responses from people. But, perhaps, she has simply become spoiled by the kindness of Ylisse so she fumbles on her response, stammering, “I don’t understand…” instead of anything that could properly quell the irritation being shown.

It’s a true statement, though it could be speaking of multiple things. The taguel has little problem calling her out on this, “Yes, it's precious little your kind seem to understand. It was man-spawn like you that invaded our warren and slaughtered my people.” 

Sparrow flinches back at this, concerned and worried that the taguel is speaking to her directly, but when Emmeryn too gives a distressed cry, Sparrow realizes the taguel was speaking of humankind in general. A fair statement. 

Emmeryn’s kindness soon wins her the taguel’s favour, Sparrow learns eventually her name is Panne, and when Chrom approaches their group again, the discussion quickly turns to what to do in regards to the assassination attempt. Sparrow is too tired to be any real help, but still listens and frowns at the plan. Keeping the exalt safe is important, she understands their concern, but she detests any delay in their own plan. She said they could give Gangrel  _ some _ time. Not a  _ lot _ of time. Escorting the exalt adds roughly half a day to their trip. Both ways.

She goes to ask if she could bring some troops herself to get their back-up from Regna Ferox and leave Chrom to fend to his bleeding heart mission on his own, but when she attempts to internally form a sentence that would make this request and  _ not  _ offend everyone in the vicinity, she comes up short and ends up keeping her mouth shut with a low grumble. 

The exalt soon calls for them to all retire for the night anyways, and Sparrow slips away before any of the Shepherds or the like can catch her with concerned questions about the battle. She approaches the library for a second time, a childlike part in her wanting to pretend everything was still the same as before the battle, but when she goes to grab the door handle, Chrom’s voice sounds from a nearby shadow. 

She actually curses, low and rough, but it doesn’t seem like Chrom catches it as he continues his approach, soft and unsure, opening with an almost sickeningly kind, “Are you all right?” 

The image of Chrom soothing his murderer flashes in her head and she actually gives her head a violent shake before firmly returning her gaze to the wooden door before her. She lies, of course, because of course she is fine, she is never not fine, why on earth would she ever be not fine?

Chrom doesn’t believe her and Sparrow finds she wants to break his kindness in her hands. But when she lets herself catch his gaze, any ability she had to do this dies immediately. His face is one of utmost concern and she balks at the idea of someone caring this much for her. She still gets huffy, he won’t cease in his pestering, but she can’t exactly tell him the real reason behind her mood is a dream she had never mentioned before. Especially when this dream had her  _ killing _ him. It still hurts to stand near him and when he calls her name one more time - so softly it’s almost lost to the wind - and reaches out to grab her arm, she finally moves, pulling herself from him to approach the balcony not far from where they stood.

“He scared me.” She tells him, as she knows he won’t leave without some semblance of an answer. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s not a complete lie, so the guilt isn’t too unbearable. “I don’t like feeling scared.”

Chrom joins her side slowly, his eyes remaining on her as he speaks, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you.”

Sparrow actually expresses her annoyance at him for once, scoffing, “You were guarding your sister, Chrom. I’m not a child, I can’t handle a few battles by myself.” 

He’s surprised at her tone but takes no offence, chuckling instead. When she gives him a confused (and petulant) glare he explains, “If you still have this much fire in you, I know you’ll be fine.”

She watches him for a couple more moments, consistently baffled by his kindness, before giving a small sigh and turning back to the night sky. She too tired to handle much more of this.

“Go to sleep, Chrom.” She instructs him softly. “There are only more battles to come.”

There’s a sound of agreement and he mimics her instructions before slipping into the nighttime shadows. She’s not sure where his room is, so she’s not sure if he actually moves to heed her request. She still needs to study a map of this castle and starts making a list of what she needed to collect from the library while half staring at the stars and making small maps within them.

As she turns to leave, she hears a rustling in the bushes below and gives an annoyed huff, unable to stop the, “You go to sleep too, young lady!” that falls from her mouth. She’s not positive it’s Marth and in reality the likelihood is extremely low, but she swears she hears a surprised and childishly guilty laugh come as a reply.

Sleep is evasive and comes easier when she opens her curtain and lets herself sleep in the light of dawn. She misses out on most of the morning - which is spent preparing for the exalt’s move to the Eastern Palace - but thankfully it’s Stahl who comes to collect her for their march as he finds her in a dead sleep across her books and doesn’t say a word when she claims to have been reading them all morning. Everything she packs is thrown in hastily and she full on growls when the newcomer, Gaius, tries to sweet talk her out of the sweet roll she swiped in way of food. 

The eastern palace is hidden within a mountain range and Sparrow hates logistics for once in her life. While it made sense to create a safe keep within the throng of many high peaked mountains, it did not make for a pleasant walk. Her only comfort is the fact that the walk past the palace and towards Regna Ferox was primarily fields and  _ flat.  _ Awful if they were beset upon by any villain, but she prays their delay would not bring about any such attack and they could make it to their goal within the day still. 

They’re nearly to where the land flattens along the edge of a cliff, where the walk would be much easier, when Lissa finally begins to complain. Loudly.

“Ugh, my poor feet. I've got blisters the size of eggs!” 

Sparrow glances at her feet and makes a sympathetic noise. With those shoes, she’s not surprised. Chrom laughs at his sister’s plight, a pleasant sound, before playfully teasing her.

“Oh, it's not so bad, Lissa. Just a healthy little stroll!” When Lissa levels a good glare at him, Chrom turns to Sparrow and asks, “How are you holding up, Sparrow?” 

The semblance of rest she managed to collect in the morning has given her enough energy to properly push her dream away, so his worry no longer bothers her as it did before so no anger arrives when she turns to reply. 

“My legs feel like pudding…” She deadpans, earning her a cheeky grin. She loosens her posture and groans a little when she continues, “Your endurance astounds me, Chrom.”

She wonders just what it would take to wear him down. A straight vertical ascent up three mountains? Even that seems like something where he could come out the other side, still smiling, only a touch out of breath and commenting on the lovely weather. He gives a short laugh at her before an almost smug smirk comes to his face, “Should I carry you?”

The memory of her asking him before flashes weakly in her head and she rolls her eyes. She wants to take him up on it, just to see what sort of reaction she could get from it, but Lissa interrupts and Frederick soon drags her attention back to the green clad man she’d been watching before Lissa first complained.

She doesn’t trust him. Every move he makes is jerky and shady; the movements of a man waiting for something only he knows will happen. With her eyes firmly on him, she approaches Chrom and reaches for his sleeve, but her fingers close around his wrist instead. She keeps her grip and asks, “Chrom, who is that?” 

If Chrom’s startled by either action he doesn’t show it, responding, “The hierarch? He's been a friend of House Ylisse for many years. He guided Emmeryn during the early years of her rule. Why do you ask?”

Sparrow feels her eyes narrow as the hierarch’s eyes continue to flit desperately across the peaks, looking,  _ waiting _ , for something. She tightens her grip, her fingers pressing into a quickening pulse, “I can't quite put my finger on it, but something feels…”

She’s not sure how to explain her uneasiness, but thankfully the traitor brings the answer to them both in form of a brigand throwing himself from the high peaks straight at Chrom. He’s dispatched quickly but many more soon follow and they’re soon facing a small troop of Plegians, all ready to kill. The hierarch rushes for the Plegians, desperate for the protection he had bought with his betrayal, but even he is not spared. Sparrow should have taken it for the sign it was.

They ensure Emmeryn’s safety and quickly fall into battle but the day continues to crumble. Cordelia flies in with news of their border’s collapsing and when they finally struggle through the last Plegian, they learn that more march steadily onwards. Emmeryn swiftly turns to march right on back to the capital and her death. (Gangrel would not take long in reaching the capital if he beat the Pegasus guard so easily.) Chrom pleads for her to stay, but Sparrow knows the look that Emmeryn wears firmly and knows it is no use. They split and gain the young pegasus rider, Cordelia, who Sumia quickly rushes to soothe. 

Their march to the Regna Ferox borders is quiet. Chrom is ensnared in his own self doubt and troubles, Sparrow is sure, but she’s too busy cataloguing all of the new information they had gathered to offer him any comfort. He wouldn’t receive it anyways. Besides, with Chrom not yielding to any weak attempt at having a break, they make it to Regna Ferox and Khan Flavia in record time. 

It’s Sparrow who nods when Flavia confirms the reason for their arrival and they wait in the throne room for her to return from rallying her troops. Chrom persists in his sullen mood, with Lissa attempting to find her own comfort in him to no avail. Sparrow would offer her her’s, but she knows that Lissa wants her brother’s attention alone. Their family is woven together tightly and Sparrow fears that the day where one thread would unwind herself was coming. 

She hears Sumia before anything else. Sumia takes a firm step forward, her gait not hindered by any stumbles, and Sparrow lifts her gaze to watch the pegasus rider approach Chrom. Sparrow knows, by the set look in her expression and the movement in her shoulders that she’s about to strike Chrom, but Sparrow finds herself so baffled by the very idea, that she simply watches it happen. Flavia also arrives just in time to watch Chrom get punched in the face, and it seems none of them have the ability to react very quickly. None, except Chrom, who looks at Sumia with a sense of vague betrayal and befuddlement when he shouts, “OW! ...What the hell was that for?!”

(Sparrow has to hold in her snicker when she learns it was done out of love and was intended to be a  _ slap _ .)

Flavia brings their first good news of the day, her troops were ready and itching for battle, but as they go to make their way home, Basilio is upon them with the worst: Emmeryn has been captured and is to be executed within the moon. 

Sparrow wants to scream but she has to catch an off-balance Lissa first. It’s an obvious trap that Chrom is ready to run head on into and she wants to scream for multiple reasons when he tries to drag the Shepherds into it. He was  _ not  _ going to bring all the people she worked so tirelessly to keep alive to their deaths, even if he  _ was _ their captain. 

Thankfully, the Khans are older, wiser, and carrying a bit more patience as they try and bring Chrom down. Lissa’s managed to steady herself and slips her hand weakly into Sparrow’s.  Sparrow gives it a quick squeeze before levelling her voice and speaking to Chrom, “The Khans are right. I'll think of something, Chrom. I promise.”

She despises promises. Despises having to keep them. But she words this neatly enough that it brings a tentative calm to Chrom’s face and allows her the cover of having never actually promised to think of anything  _ good _ , should it come to that. He seems to have some fight left in him, she can see it in his eyes as he watches her, but he doesn’t use it to argue with her and nods his deference after a brief moment of contemplation, “...All right, Sparrow. I leave it to you to formulate our strategy.”

She’s glad for it - she didn’t want to risk any more confrontation with him - and slips her hands from Lissa’s with a kind smile as she moves to begin her plotting. Flavia stalls hers with a serious tone, “Are you certain you're up to the task, Sparrow? It won't be easy. You hold the exalt's life in one hand, and all of ours in the other.”

It’s a new sort of expression that Flavia wears and Sparrow realizes in that moment that she has yet to properly gain the Khan’s respect despite Chrom having it in spades. She straightens her back and meets the Khan’s gaze head on. 

“A responsibility I do not take lightly. But I am equal to the challenge.” It’s a blatant lie, at least to her, for the seed of fear she had been nourishing since being ‘gifted’ Chrom’s army has long since bloomed into a magnificent collection of thorny roses scratching at the inside of her chest. She wants to fall to the floor and bemoan their imminent deaths, (how could some like her save them all?) but she has never really been able to do as she pleases since waking in that field. 

She manages to surprise both Khans with her words, but she also earns their respect in one fell swoop and she smiles weakly at Basilio’s words.

‘A fool or a genius?’ Sparrow thinks to herself. ‘You speak as if I can’t be both.’ 

Khan Flavia approaches her and gives her one of her specials, a hard clap to the back and a grin, “Well, all right, Ms. Tactician! Let me know if you need anything. We should stay here for the time being, until you think of the best time to make our move.”

Chrom once more looks like he’s going to argue, but it’s Lissa who calms him this time by silently taking his hand. It would do no good to march when they are unsure of their route, and this way they have more time to properly stock themselves with weapons and supplies. Khan Flavia says as much with slightly different words as Sparrow spends this time carefully musing over what she would need to begin laying out her plan.

“I’m going to need… a star chart.” She says eventually, very simply and earnestly, as if requesting a cup of tea. She turns to Flavia - whose expression is that of vague amusement and confusion - in order to find it.

Chrom, however, having not been fully quelled, spins on her, sounding furious and betrayed. “What does a star chart have to do with saving my sister?!”

She taken aback by his rage - she’s sure they all are, if Sumia’s small gasp is anything to go by. Something cold starts to crawl up Sparrow’s back and she feels her hands close into tight fists in what is most likely a defensive response. She wouldn’t dare to actually lash out as Sumia did, but if he were to move any closer, she knows her body would take steps to defend itself. When she speaks, the chill she feels in her spine makes its way into her voice. 

“So I can see what role Jupiter will play in our march.” She replies, voice low, and Chrom is the one to take a step back. “The Mad King hates your sister and your kingdom. Her execution will be an event he’ll want to tell the story of for ages. He will not simply behead her and be done with it, he will make sure the date has importance and is seen by as many as possible.”

She turns to him fully now, refusing to be burdened by the flinch of pain that flashes on his face. He had insulted her integrity. He had  _ lost faith _ in her. It hurt more than she would have ever liked it to and she finds she needs to redeem herself. He had trusted her when all he had was her name, but now it seems she needs to prove herself. 

“I need a star chart because all we were given in lieu of dates was ‘within the moon’. This could be tomorrow, it could be in two weeks. I need to figure out what is the most likely date for him to kill her so I can best formulate a plan to save her. So, if you’ll excuse me, my Lord.” Sparrow makes sure her final words are as sharp as the sword at his side, falling into a low curtsy as she does so, “I need to begin my preparations. Flavia, a star chart or anything discerning the phases of the moon, and any information of Plegian customs that you have. Any information will give me better insight into what he’s planning.”

She marches forward, away from Chrom and towards a random door, with Flavia falling into step beside her. She’s not sure if this is the best door to choose but she doesn’t care. Anything to escape the room. There’s a warmth prickling the back of her eyes that Sparrow refuses to focus on and she only breathes a sigh of relief when she collapses on the Feroxi castle’s library floor, surrounded by numerous texts and scripts. 

She lets out a low hum, surveying all the potential picks, before grabbing the recommended scroll detailing the phases of the moon. It doesn’t have specific dates, but if she knows the current phase, she could map out the following ones and make a rough calendar from there.

She has to start somewhere, after all.

She sinks into all the books, desperately trying to take in as much information as possible. At one point Kellam catches her gently singing to herself about their imminent death if she didn’t manage to figure this out and terrifies her half to death. (“While musically pleasing to the ear, the lyrics are a bit cryptic. Is there anything I can help with?”) She’s proud she only screams a little, less proud of the bruise she knows is bound to form when she accidentally slams her hand into a nearby bookcase. He apologizes profusely and offers to bring her food in apology. He first informs her of her invitation to dinner, but she declines, saying she has to put all her focus into saving the exalt. 

She doesn’t hear him leave, nor does she catch him when he comes back, but when she turns and notices a plate of food and some mead sitting next to her - a safe distance from her books were she to turn too quickly - she can’t help the fond and thankful smile that grows on her face as she looks up towards the door.

“Thank you, Kellam.” She says softly, though she’s not sure if he was close enough to hear her. (He very well could be. He seemed to appear from absolutely no where despite his claims of always being there in the first place.) She swears she hears an embarrassed cough coming from outside the door, though it could just have easily been the wind. 

Time passes very oddly in the library. One moment the halls are filled with scattered chatter and footsteps, and the next, they are practically deserted. The servants eventually come to clear her plate away and encourage her to rest, informing her the rest of the party had already gone to bed, but she smiles, thanks them for their worry, and assures them that she isn’t tired at all. Another blatant lie, but her practiced smile sees to it that they don’t notice. 

Sooner than she would like, Sparrow finds the candle flames burning quite low and the text swimming in front of her. Before she can issue any complaints to the empty and echoing room, the door clicks open and she calls to the servant, her eyes refusing leaving the page until the words written there make some semblance of sense, “Perfect timing! Could you replace the candles, please? I still have some more work to do.” 

The servant doesn’t reply, and they also don’t attend to the candles. Instead, they make their way towards her, sitting themselves just beyond her books moat of books. She turns to them, not angry but a bit puzzled, and finds Chrom’s sullen face awaiting her. 

They stare at each other for several moments, Sparrow blinking slowly - as if unsure that it is truly Chrom moping before her - before calling his name in a questioning tone.

He nods, but doesn’t speak. Sparrow is at an utter loss when it comes to his purpose here, except to maybe see if she had made any progress, so she makes a show of shuffling the papers in front of her and babbling a bit on what information she had gleaned. She’d managed to roughly narrow down the exalts execution to a few dates, but still isn’t sure which is the best bet. Each date would require a slightly different strategy so she hasn’t made too much progress in regards to what they should actually do.

As she speaks she can see his expression continuing to fall and the pang of guilt that echoes in her is hard to ignore. She understands his despondent nature and truly wishes she had something better to give him, but before she can try and make up some sort of comfort, he surprises her with a quiet apology. 

She’s sure she surprises him too with her rather indelicate response of, “Huh?”

“I was frustrated with the situation and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry.” He repeats, one hand moving to drag itself through his hair. He looks like a bit of a mess and Sparrow has to hold herself back from reaching out and smoothing all the wrinkles out.

She wasn’t expecting an apology, nor does she really require one, so she shrugs it off and goes back to pretending she was organizing her papers, “You needn’t worry. You were concerned for your sister. I can’t fault you on that.”

“But I should have trusted you and—” He tries again but she silences him with a wave of her hand.

“Water under the bridge. Now, if you insist on staying awake worrying about needless things at ungodly hours, you could at least help me figure out what date Gangrel is likely to move.” 

She goes back to mumbling - this was really starting to grate on her - and for a moment it feels as though Chrom was likely to begin the argument anew. He takes a small inhale but decides better and gives a sigh of relief instead. When Sparrow catches his gaze again, she can see the beginnings of a tired smile. 

“Thank you, Sparrow.” He says gently and Sparrow suddenly finds herself feeling extremely awkward. Gratitude, apparently, is even harder to handle than sorrow. She gives him a stiff nod and half shoves the calendar she’d drawn up into his lap, relaying all she had figured out in the past while. It takes some time, and several brand new candlesticks Sparrow almost wants to kiss, but they do finally zero in on when Gangrel is most likely to launch his plan. Sparrow lets out a small cheer of joy when they figure out the date and this time it’s Chrom she almost kisses, but she manages to hold herself back and simply stands to skip around the room instead. 

“Not sure I see the joy in knowing when my sister may die.” Chrom says, giving a small wince at the final word. Sparrow almost physically brushes the phrase off, she has to think of Emmeryn as a chess piece otherwise the weight of the consequences should she fail would cause her to fall into a panic, but shifts the movement into kneeling down and grabbing Chrom’s hands instead. 

“But don’t you see? Having a date means we can plan around him and ruin it! This is wonderful news, Chrom! This means we have a strong chance to rescue her, I’m sure of it!” Chrom still seems a little hesitant, but this eventually wears down and he smiles when he squeezes her hands back. She tugs at him then, forcing him to his feet and urges him to the door. “Now! You go get some rest. The Shepherds need you in top shape! I’ll figure the rest of this out and tell you as we march tomorrow.” 

Chrom’s too tired to argue it seems, though he does pause at the door to give her a firm look. “You rest soon as well, Sparrow, we need  _ you _ in top shape too.”

This time she does physically wave him off, once more making no promises, though she gives a hum of recognition. This seems to be enough as he bids her goodnight, leaving her alone amongst the books once more.

“All right!” She cheers to herself, pushing up the sleeves of her cloak. “Let’s find a way to kill the bastard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a LOT but I hope you enjoyed it.  
> just so you know!!!! even if I don't reply to your comments I love ALL of them and they make me so happy!!!! ; v ;  
> also I forgot Sparrow ate an onion in the last chapter and was v thrown off by a couple comments mentioned that like "... onion..???" and my roomie/beta is like erin, erin you wrote her eating an ONION.  
> (it's one of my fav hc for her. sometimes she'll pull one from her pocket to eat in the middle of a conversation to fuck w ppl)  
> anyways. ty for all your comments and for reading!!! pls leave more if you wish!!! they make me super happy!!!! I hope you enjoy these idiots being fucking IDIOTS (that we love)


	6. The Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is what u would call filler?? + Chrom and Robin’s B Support

She’s not sure when she falls asleep. In fact, she isn’t aware she had fallen asleep until a worried voice sounds incessantly in her ear and the room feels altogether too bright. All she knows is one moment she had been in the dark of night, and the next, her eyes were lazily trying to focus in the brilliance of the morning sun. 

“Please tell me you didn’t sleep here.” Chrom says, almost pleading, and she turns to him, blinking slowly to clear the haze from her eyes. She’s on the floor, she thinks, as it’s quite cold and firm, but she’s also being lifted enough off of said floor enough to feel the chill of the air and the warmth of Chrom’s hands. Chrom gives her a small shake that wakes her up a little better before calling her name again, this time with a touch more worry. She’s not sure what he expects as an answer, if not a lie, so she gives a resolute nod instead. 

“Okay. I won’t tell you.” She says, to which he sighs and she can’t help but frown too. His face is quite close, though he’s looking to the floor beside her, and she can see the worried furrow in his brow, so she lifts her hand and attempts to wipe it away. She’s half delirious from just waking up and a severe lack of sleep, seeing as she genuinely believes this will work. Like wiping fog from a glass pane. 

When Chrom looks back to her - no longer worried but entirely baffled - she explains herself. In a way. She’s not entirely sure what he’s worried about so she makes sure to cover all the bases. “Stop looking so bothered. You have everyone behind you. We’ll figure this out. Gangrel’s warriors will cry the moment they hear our names. We’ll be okay.”

Her reassurances are nothing more than reiterations of comforting phrases she’s heard spoken before, but they seem to work, Chrom’s face relaxing into a relieved smile. She pats his face one more time before making her move to properly stand up. He helps her collect the books she feels she’ll still need for travelling before they make their way to the rest of the Shepherds. Sumia seems happy to see them in better spirits than the night before and Sparrow is sure to smile at her. Sumia is too sweet of a girl to spend so much time fretting over her.

Sparrow watches Sumia approach Chrom and a part of Sparrow internally comments on what a beautiful couple they would make. This immediately brings a sharp pain in her chest and a sharp intake of breath that Chrom catches, “Are you alright, Sparrow?”

“I’m fine!” Sparrow lies with her practiced smile back in tow. Just another lie to add to the pile. More and more and more it seemed. “Just a little hungry, I might see what I can find before we head out.” 

She turns before she can catch any expression on his face and heads towards the kitchens as if in some default mode. She manages to pocket two apples and some sort of roll, as well as a small carved marble statue from a table in one of the hallways that she worries in her hand for most of their march.  _ It’s stupid, _ she keeps reminding herself. She should be happy. Sumia would make an excellent wife to anyone and Chrom deserved such a doting wife!

Caught up in these thoughts, she walks right into someone once more. It’s actually more of a shoulder check, as she stumbles over a rock due to paying the road little attention. Thankfully, it isn’t Chrom, who is leading the troops along the route she detailed earlier that morning to both him and the Khans. Less thankfully, it’s Sully’s horse who nearly stomps on her toes in retribution. It stirs both the horse and Sully up some, which catches the leading groups attention, but Sparrow just awkwardly waves at them when they glance back to her. They give a confused and worried look, but do go back to the forward march relatively quickly. Sully, on the other hand, not so much.

“What was that about!” Sully scolds her, running a hand down her horse’s neck, “What’d my horse ever do to you?”

“Nothing, nothing! I got lost in thought for a moment…” Sparrow mumbles, shying away from both of them. Sully gives a loud huff and whacks her with the butt of her lance. When Sparrow yelps and turns to her with a slew on questions on her tongue, Sully silences her with a look, and a vaguely threatening jab of her lance, “Pull it together! We ain’t got time to mope around! We’re at  _ war _ .”

Sparrow wants to huff and say she is good at multitasking, but the fact she just tripped over a rock not two seconds ago probably would decimate any argument she tried with that, so she continues to stare straight ahead and pout instead. This earns her another whack with the lance, but a lighter, more affectionate one, “Stop stressin’ so much. We believe in you. You and Chrom? There’s nothing you can’t do.”

This earns more of a smile from her and they continue on in relative silence until Stahl finds them to share another snack he found in his bags. Sparrow debates asking him how he finds all these treats but finds the air that brews between the three of them to be too comforting to break so eats her treat slowly to stop any words she might try and say. 

They break for camp before night is upon them and everyone moves to quickly set up, all ready for a well earned rest. The air is much drier, a consequence of approaching the sandy dunes that claim much of Plegia’s landscape, and the temperature is dropping as the sun dips low in the sky. They’re still a little ways off of the desert dunes and Sparrow’s not sure how the blizzard-born Feroxi soldiers are going to handle the stifling heat that wafts from the desert floor. She’s also not sure how much more of Maribelle’s huffing curses at the damage the dry air is doing to her skin she is going to be able to handle. Maribelle’s not alone; several of the Shepherd’s are griping over the effects of the desert but Sparrow found she is hardly bothered at all. 

_ Maybe I was Plegian, _ she muses briefly before rather violently shaking herself from that thought. Despite the possibility being quite high, she doesn’t want to handle the emotions that arouse with the thought and pushes her attention to putting her tent up. 

The sound of others busily doing the same helps keep her mind away from any unwanted thoughts. With the addition of Flavia’s troops, and the length of the march, bathing tents were added to the armoury as well as cooking tents and she can hear several soldiers that seem to have too much time on their hands being called to help set them up. If Sparrow had the energy she would try out their newest addition - work out the awful kink in her back - but she talks herself out of it. They would be nearing Plegia’s border tomorrow and taking a rather long and complicated route to get in avoiding any detection. Besides, she’s sure she’d appreciate the bath more at the end of tomorrow if the overheard complaints of Plegia’s heat were to be believed. 

She manages to set her tent up to her liking both inside and out quite quickly and she’s very pleased with herself as she takes a seat and pulls out one of the war histories she’d snagged from the Feroxi library. She’s not three pages in when Stahl enters her tent and asks if she’d like to bring Chrom’s gift to him now. 

Sparrow stares at Stahl for a good few, blank seconds before her brain pieces everything together and she’s shooting to her feet, slamming her shin into her makeshift desk as she does so. 

“Chrom’s birthday is today?” She hisses in a relatively subdued whisper. Stahl nods and holds up the finished tonic which she stares at with unabashed shock. Her mind is whirling as she approaches and takes the tonic gently in her hands. With all that’s happened, Sparrow’s not sure how Chrom would react to receiving a gift. Would he welcome the distraction or grow angry at the celebration considering his sister’s situation? Sparrow thought she had a decent grasp on the man, but the previous night still has her quite shaken and she’s quiet when she speaks next, “Do you think it’s… appropriate…?” 

She doesn’t see it but she knows Stahl is smiling as he places his hands over hers, closing them around the gift. 

“Maybe not, but I know he’ll appreciate it.” Stahl insists, as encouraging as ever. Sparrow still eyes both him and the gift doubtfully, worry tugging her lips down. She doesn’t wish for any more mishaps between her and Chrom, she’s already stumbled terribly in their relationship and she doesn’t need two mistakes so close together. His blow up last night was a sign she’d been waning in her focus on her outward attitude and word choice. Perhaps it would be better if she kept her distance for the moment and reminded herself that she was nothing more than a  _ tactician _ …

Of course, Stahl has no need for her hesitation and his patience could only last so long, so with a small sigh he breaks her from her thoughts by tightening his grip on her hands and tugging her out of her tent and towards Chrom’s, his voice light but firm, “C’mon, it’ll be fine. He needs this more than ever. It’s a sleeping tonic to help with restless nights.” 

Chrom’s tent is closer to the middle of their congregation while Sparrow preferred setting up closer to the edge, so they have some time to talk as they pick their way through the tents. Stahl spends it by explaining the tonic in a bit more detail, ignoring Sparrow’s light and grumbling protests. Sparrow instinctively and internally maps the camp’s layout as they go. It’s usually quite similar day to day, but the addition of Flavia and Basilio adds some changes she needs to make sure she’s aware of. Stahl’s rambling is almost ambient noise at one point but Sparrow’s sure it’s only meant to distract her from any plaguing uncertainty anyways. It does work, eventually, almost three tents from Chrom’s when she recognizes one of the herbs he mentions for it’s rather  _ deadly _ quality. (She only knew this as a previous reader had scribbled an antidote for it in the margins in one of her books.) 

“Oh, that’s only if you eat it whole. The roots are what are used in the tonic and— Ah! Chrom! Perfect timing!” Stahl’s voice brightens as he calls for their leader and Sparrow finds it cute. Chrom is beloved by all his soldiers and they’re turning into a family she finds she wants to protect more and more everyday.

Chrom stands at the entrance of his tent, his back to them as he bids goodbye to Maribelle. Sparrow notices the fatigue written into his face when he turns to face them and hopes he didn’t stay up too late the night before. He needn’t worry so much, she was happy to take on all the sleepless nights. (Most of the time.)

He too brightens when he greets them, though Sparrow can tell there’s a hint of exasperation. They must not be the only ones to wish him a happy birthday and she feels a spike of anxiety. Perhaps this was a terrible idea. 

She finds herself almost instinctively trying to leave with an apology at Chrom’s question of their visit but Stahl knows her better that she thought and he catches her wrist and holds it tight, keeping her facing forward, as he says, “We have something to tell you!” 

She hates the nervousness churning in her stomach and forces herself to straighten herself and paint a pleasant and unbothered smile on her face when she looks at Chrom. His expression goes curious and she catches the flicker when he glances quickly at their conjoined hands. His face seems to sour for the briefest second and Sparrow goes to try and unpack this strange expression when Stahl is yanking her hand up to present the tonic to the other man.

“Happy birthday!” Stahl cheers, his lazy grin shining bright and Sparrow gets thrown right off of any thought process, as well as her balance, as she scrambles to catch up with the actual situation.

“O-Oh! Yes! Happy birthday, Chrom! Stahl and I went in together for a present for you. I hope you like it!” She manages to bring in a little genuine excitement to her voice, as birthdays were rather exciting, regardless of their terrible timings. 

Chrom takes a couple moments to respond, as if he had been forming a whole different reaction to what he thought they were about to say, but when he seems to recognize what they were actually trying to do, a laugh bubbles in his throat. 

He takes the tonic after the tension releases from his shoulders and the smile that grows on his face is beautiful. Stahl happily explains the tonic while Sparrow remains silent. She had done nothing but pick up a few ingredients, so she hardly has the right to speak about it much, but when Stahl finishes his explanation, Chrom thanks her just the same. 

Stahl bids them both goodbye not long after but when Sparrow goes to follow him, Chrom’s hand catches her wrist and she turns back to him with evident confusion. 

“Thank you, Sparrow.” Chrom repeats, squeezing her wrist gently, “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Of course I did.” Sparrow replies, a little dumbfounded. “You’re our leader, Chrom. You’ve been working hard for all of us. You deserve this.”

This lightens the smile on Chrom’s face and Sparrow finds herself growing slightly uncomfortable at the gratitude and attention he continues to bestow on her as he refuses to let go and continues with, “Thank you, truly, it means a lot to me to hear you say that.”

Sparrow isn’t sure what kind of response she stutters over when she gives an awkward bow of recognition, but her breathing at least begins to settle when Frederick calls for Chrom, who promptly releases her wrist as if she was burning him when he turns to greet him. She bids them both a hasty goodbye and can feel the suspicious and disapproving aura coming from Frederick, so she doesn’t turn her gaze up when she moves to return to her tent. 

She’s proud of herself for at least keeping the dark red flush that takes over her cheeks at bay until she collapses on her desk chair, face shoved firmly into the pages of her books. 

The next morning the heat comes early on Plegian soil and Sparrow is blinded when she exits her tent and receives a face full of bright morning sun. The complaints also start early with even Miriel grousing about the inescapable heat. Sparrow doesn’t speak up, quite unbothered by the weather despite the thick cloak that hangs over her shoulders. 

Their march is hindered by little. They don’t meet a single Plegian soldier which irritates her. She picked this route for this very reason, but can’t believe that Gangrel or his tactician wouldn’t have prepared for this and sent at least  _ one _ troop to interfere with them. It’s downright suspicious and further confirms her belief that Gangrel WANTS them to make it to his castle, but Sparrow keeps this to herself, as she’s not sure how much she wants to approach Chrom considering his rather odd attitude the night before. Frederick also keeps shooting her small looks that she doesn’t want to handle so she keeps to Vaike and insists to herself that listening to Lissa repeatedly scold him about keeping his skin protected by the beating sun isn’t  _ that _ bad. 

“Whaddya want me to do? Drown in my own sweat wearing a cloak like Sparrow’s?” Vaike groans eventually, interrupting Lissa’s third rant. Sparrow perks up when she hears her name and turns to the two of them with a bit of a blank look.

“I’m not sweating?” She says, distracted enough that she speaks the first words to actually come to her. Vaike stares at her in disbelief, leaning forward to invade her space a little more than she would like.

“Huh?! How? This sun is killer!” Vaike shouts, causing both Lissa and Sparrow to gain a face of irritation, though for vaguely different reasons. 

“It’s not that hot?” Sparrow offers, taking a small step away from him. She would admit to it being warm, but it was hardly sweltering. She’s saved from any more interrogation when the group calls for another water break. She gives a low huff, they’d been asking for more than she wanted to give, but Stahl manages to convince her when he reminds her the horses are not suited to the weather and they can’t risk dehydration. 

They march until nearly nightfall when they finally make it to a spot Sparrow deems safe enough for camp. It takes some time to convince anyone to work in the kitchen and its heat, but when Chrom threatens - though he veils it in a genuine offer - to cook himself, several voices pipe in that they are able and free to start on dinner. (Sparrow can’t help the snicker that escapes at the rather offended look that grows on Chrom’s face.) 

Sparrow isn’t terribly hungry, but joins the rest of camp for dinner regardless. She continues to keep some distance from Chrom, not quite sure what her feelings are doing, but this ends with her receiving a very stern lesson in dinner etiquette from Maribelle who accuses her of eating with the grace of a Risen. She can’t even defend herself as Maribelle quickly moves in to straighten her posture and rearrange her arms so that she appears more respectable. Sparrow had never been more uncomfortable trying to eat a salad and is extra thankful for the bathing tents as she’s quite sure Maribelle pulls at least three muscles in her back when she catches her slouching again.

Sparrow’s surprised when she enters the bathing tent and finds it completely empty. Surprised, but not unhappy with the arrangement, she hums a bit as she slowly strips. Her tome on fire magic gets placed close by so she can restart the fire should it dim as she is quite sure she will need the water to be near boiling to work out the new kinks lodged into her back by Maribelle. 

There’s a pleasant smell to the air and Sparrow spots several bottles of oils kept together near the middle of the tent on one of the tables. She makes sure to make note of it for next time as she ties her hair up into a loose bun and hops in, testing the water first to ensure it’s to her liking. Pulling her knees close as she sits herself down in the middle of the basin quickly, an unexpected shyness causing her to keep herself as covered as possible. She lets her eyes wander the space, automatically mentally writing up an inventory of the items she can find. She only feels herself begin to relax when she leans back to inspect the different leathers and cloth that make up the tent itself.

She almost starts to doze but a voice quickly snaps her back to reality and she loses roughly half the water in her tub when she shoots to her feet hearing Chrom’s voice calling to her, “Sparrow! ...HELLO? I HAVE A QUESTION ABOUT OUR NEXT MOVE!”

“Chrom?!” She practically squeaks as she hurries to exit the tub - she’d nearly thrown herself from it earlier by sliding after shooting to her feet. “I-is that you? Er, if you could just wait outside, I'll just be a moment…” 

She’s in a hurry to reach for her cloak when she hears Chrom again, though it seems he has misheard her, as he mumbles a low, “What? Come on in? ...Gods, why is it so steamy in here? Did someone leave—“ while  _ entering the tent _ . Sparrow simply screams and instinctively covers her  _ own _ face in some strange and desperate attempt of protection as there is no way she is gonna make it to her cloak  _ now.  _

Chrom, for whatever reason, does not seem to find her scream odd in any way and continues to happily chatter away as he approaches her, “Ah, there you are. I can hardly see a thing through all this blasted steam... Anyway. I wanted to consult with you on tomorrow's march. You see…” though eventually he seems to catch onto the situation as she hears both his voice and steps falter when he asks, “Er, is there any special reason you aren't wearing any clothing?”

Sparrow finally peeks through her fingers at this and finds Chrom’s eyes wide and  _ looking _ at her, darting up and down her body as if he wasn’t quite sure what he is seeing. Sparrow feels her face flush darker before she closes her eyes again and says gently, “Chrom? Rather than stand there like a slack-jawed village idiot... PERHAPS YOU COULD WAIT OUTSIDE LIKE I ASKED?!” 

She’s not terribly proud at the pitch she hits with the last sentence, high and piercing, but it does the job and snaps Chrom out of whatever trance he found himself in and she hears the shuffling of his footsteps when he speaks next, “But, I... You... Oh gods, I'm SO sorry! I didn't mean to! That is to say—“

He doesn’t move fast enough so Sparrow encourages him by balling her fists and shouting, “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUT!”

“R-right!” He’s the one to squeak a bit this time and she hears him trip over his own feet as he scrambles to finally exit the tent, “Absolutely! Straightaway! I'll, er, wait outside the tent.”

Sparrow waits until she hears him stumble through the tent’s entrance before she uncovers and opens her eyes again. Her face feels impossibly warm and she’s not sure she can even breathe correctly. She can hardly believe it actually happened until she looks out and can make out Chom’s shadow outside the tent. Part of her wants to scream again, this is  _ not _ what she needs, but Chrom apparently needs her for something so she doesn’t even take the time to dry herself off and instead shoves herself awkwardly in her clothes and tosses her cloak around her before following the other man out. 

“All right, you!” She huffs as she marches right in front of him, hands curled into tight fists. She’s mostly feigning the anger, her embarrassment is much stronger than any other feeling. Her voice is low - she didn’t need anyone else overhearing - but firm when she speaks, “What sort of idiot blunders straight into the women's bathing tent?!”

Chrom for his part looks genuinely distressed and apologetic as he explains, “I'm sorry! Very, very sorry! I misheard you, I swear it. I had no intention of peeping!”

Sparrow opens her mouth to give him some sort of scolding, but no words are coming to her in the order she would like so she takes in another breath before releasing it in a tired sigh. “...Just... Fine. Apology accepted. Now what was so damned important?”

Chrom isn’t in the habit of seeking her out, she generally found her way to him or requested a strategy meeting, and she’s not sure what he was so bothered about that he actually made the effort to look for her.

She’s not entirely pleased with his answer.

“Oh, er. I was hoping you could offer some advice on tomorrow's route.” He explains sheepishly, one hand rising to tug lightly at his hair. Sparrow cocks a single brow. That’s it?

“Fine.” She says stiffly. “What are the options?”

He pulls out the map Sparrow failed to notice until now and steps closer to her to show her the options as he speaks, “Well, according to this map, one route is this steep trail through the hills. Or we could circle the hills and follow the main road across the plain. I imagine either would work but wanted to see if you had a preference.”

The hills are the obvious choice and Sparrow wonders if he, or someone else, is simply asking to try and get out of climbing them at the peak of the Plegian heat. She makes a show of humming and looking over the map, though there is hardly a question to what her preference would be, “I'd say the path through the hills. The main road would be easier, but we'd be more exposed if we encountered foes.”

Gangrel hadn’t jumped on them yet, but they couldn’t rule out of the possibility and they need to keep most of their energy for when they reach Gangrel and have to start the hardest part of their plan. They still have a few days until she expects he’ll execute Emmeryn so it’s not a terrible loss if they lose some time taking the harder, and safer, way. 

“Right... That's what I was thinking. Thanks for the advice. And, er... “ He agrees easily and it’s almost as if their awkward run in hadn’t happened. But then he rolls up the map and properly looks at her. He seems to catch their closeness and she notices a splotch of pink rise to his face as his eyes search hers for the briefest second before snapping back to the map in his hand. “Yes! Well, that's it, I guess! So...yes. Bye.”

“Goodbye.” She replies, though she doesn’t move. She’s left her tome in the tent and Chrom is more than a little in her way. He also isn’t done attempting to apologize.

“...And Sparrow? I'm really sorry about the bath thing. I honestly didn't mean to catch you like that.” She can hear the sincerity in his voice and lets out a small sigh. She isn’t really all that upset but she also doesn’t want to remember it. She can feel her own embarrassment start to rise again so she pushes a smile onto her face to reassure him.

“It's fine. Water under the bridge. Let's forget about it and move on.” She says, rather forcefully. Chrom flinches a slight bit, but manages to return his own awkward smile in agreement.

“Er, right. Yes. Good idea. So! I'll catch you later? Argh, no! I mean, I'll SEE you later! ...ARGH! NO! I mean... Good-bye!” Chrom stumbles through his goodbye, Sparrow had never heard him hit such a high pitch before, until he finally gives up and just marches off. She watches him until his back is no longer discernible from the shadows before her pretence drops and she collapses into a crouch, her face cradled in her hands, a small whine escaping between her fingers.

(Sully finds her still like this when she shows up twelve minutes later for her own bath and threatens to get her lance if Sparrow doesn’t move out of the entrance.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have anything clever to put here this time. I'm watching Princess Bride.   
> the next chapter will get back to the game plot!! it'll also be a little long but I hope you enjoyed this lil bit of filler c:


	7. The Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 ; Chrom and Robin's A Support

The next day brings much of the same in regards to weather, complaints—Vaike whines for a good chunk of the morning about the sunburn glowing almost as red as the Plegain’s robes much to Lissa’s annoyance—and the absence of the Plegian guard. Their own guards are all raised as they creep further and further into the enemy’s territory, but the lack of resistance they face becomes so apparent that soon even Chrom comments, his mouth pressed into a firm frown. 

Sparrow agrees it’s odd, but doesn’t bother to voice anything about the matter. Chrom had already stuttered over three different sentences while attempting to converse with her this morning. Two of which  _ he  _ started. She had quickly clued in that he must still be flustered by their “encounter” the night before and decided she didn’t have the energy to try and deal with this embarrassment as she often found her own cheeks growing pink when he got himself worked up.

Her silence is only broken when Frederick spots “some manner of engagement downfield” as Chrom’s kindness glows much stronger than any discomfort and he quickly approaches her to best discuss which Shepherds would be best to fight.

Their main obstacle being the almost mountainous sand dunes ensnaring them so their decision is speedy, as few were unhindered by sand. The mages get their turn to shine on the battlefield, being one of the few classes able to fight unimpeded. Sparrow watches with a fond smile as Ricken trips over his cloak three times in his attempt to stand next to Chrom. She moves her gaze back out to the sand and, after catching the sharp yell from Sully when her horse stumbles in the sand, decides against any horseback fighters. Frederick sounds like a miffed lady of the court when she informs him of this decision and Sparrow has to bite back a sigh at his, very, vocal disapproval.

“Robin, I must protest—“ he starts, back straightening to remind her of his full height. Sparrow is glad they’re situated on dunes so she could explain her slight flinch back as her slipping and makes sure her voice is at least firm when she speaks next. 

“I’m thinking of the horses, Sir Frederick. It would be terrible if they were to twist their ankle on the loose sand during battle. We should keep them back and wait till we can focus on walking them through the worst part of the dunes,” she explains and, thankfully, Chrom agrees, so Frederick is left to huff alongside Sully, Stahl and an equally offended Maribelle. (Sparrow only just manages to dodge her parasol when she grabs Lissa to join the front line.)

The fighters organize themselves quickly and Sparrow is hardly three seconds from calling the start of their fight when a small, green haired girl comes dashing into view farther down the dunes with a much larger red headed man trailing her insistently

At first it seems as though the redhead is her aggressor, but as they continue to hear snippets of their conversation, they learn that they are  _ both _ targets, which the man, Gregor, had been insisting on. Sparrow still makes sure to vocalize her doubt, “Yeah... Not sure "innocent baby" is how I'd describe it…” when he claims his face showed this innocence.

Oddly enough, she doesn’t hear any deceit in his words and so she decides to trust him. At least until they themselves could get closer to him and the maiden. 

Chrom spots the villages stuck in the middle and Sparrow chooses both their fliers, Sumia and Cordelia, to focus on warning them. She can’t see too many archers that could surprise the pegasus riders and she knows what they can do even when they’re on their own so she’s not worried about them facing a few solo matches.

She finally goes to give them the call to march forward, when several of the enemy soldiers and mages come flying forward themselves and soon Sparrow hardly has any time to worry about herself, or their new charges, as she guides her troops through the sand that starts to whip up around them, brought on by the incessant wind and dark magic the rival mages were using. Sparrow almost forgets about the other two until she hears the girl screech, “GET AWAY FROM ME!”

Sparrow turns quickly, panic ringing in her ears as she searches for the little girl. Did Gregor not claim he was trying to protect her? How could he let an enemy so close? Sparrow’s eyes dart frantically around the sand until they finally focus on their young charge who is currently… Transforming into a very, very,  _ very  _ large dragon and  _ breathing fire.  _

“What in blazes?!” Sparrow finds herself shrieking, stumbling a back a bit over the sand. “The girl is a dragon!”

Were humans even a real race anymore?! It seems like so many people she encountered could turn into various creatures. Was Frederick truly human? Or was he actually the bear she believed him to be? Chrom saves her from voicing any of these ridiculous thoughts when he names the girl a manakete and, as usual, Sparrow feels the information reeling in as the word reemerges in her internal lexicon. 

She watches in amazement as the girl absolutely annihilates the soldier in her path, much to Gregor’s amusement. He’s still laughing when she returns to her more human form, patting her on the back with such gusto she’s almost knocked over. Sparrow then can’t help her own chuckle when the girl seems to huff out some sort of threat, as Gregor backs off with his hands in a defensive position afterwards. 

Sparrow lets out a small hum as she switches her gaze back to the battlefield, mumbling “Perhaps she doesn't need our help so much as we could use hers…” 

She’s not one hundred percent on the girl’s ability, the sand impeding much of her vision, so she keeps her close to Gregor, but Sparrow is very pleased when the two of them help to keep the Plegian’s numbers down as they march towards the leader, who is, of course, closest to the farthest village. 

He shouts about Grima, but his voice is quickly silenced by Sumia and Chrom’s combined might. Sparrow feels a pain shoot from her right hand at the name but clenches her fist, driving her nails deep into her palm to distract herself from it. The manakete is also another welcome distraction as she collapses to a heap on the sand as soon as Chrom announces they’ve won and wails, “This is just the worst. Day. EVER!” 

Sparrow shoots the girl a startled look, not entirely sure what brought this complaint back to the forefront, they  _ had _ won, but luckily Gregor is quite happy to soothe her.

He turns out to be a sellsword and happily boasts about his abilities. Chrom, of course, decides the hire the man, despite his admittedly stained past, and Sparrow becomes even more distracted by the idea of being  _ paid _ for one’s services. Were the Shepherds paid? Was  _ she  _ getting paid? She had, after all, only decided to follow Chrom for the chance to learn about the man. She was unaware she could be earning  _ gold _ for this. 

However, before she can voice any questions about her financial potential, she catches the tail end of Frederick’s sentence and the pain in her right hand blazes even stronger than before. It’s a worrisomely familiar pain, almost instinctual, and Sparrow feels her nails bite even harder into the soft flesh of her palm this time round. 

“Beg pardon,” she interrupts, “but who are the Grimleal?”

Frederick turns to her with a grim expression, his voice cold to express his strong distaste for whoever these Grimleal happened to be, “Followers of the fell dragon, Grima. The selfsame dragon the first exalt defeated a thousand years ago. Even today there are some who yearn for the fiend's return.”

Sparrow finds herself clutching awkwardly at her right hand, still closed in a tight fist, as she listens. Her gaze also flickers, her eyes darting between Frederick and one of the Grimleal sprawled across the earth not far from her, whose cloak was adorned with a terribly familiar pattern. As Frederick continues to speak, Sparrow feels as though she takes up way too much space and feels her shoulders slouch forward, receding into her cloak that now seems to be both her enemy and her protector all at once.

“I…see.” She replies dumbly, her tone easily expressing her sudden disinterest in proceeding with the topic. Sparrow feels the roses in her stomach lashing into her and attempts to soothe herself by rubbing her thumb across her knuckles. Her head generally supplied her with the larger definition of a word from before her memories left her once it is spoken, but this time her mind is stubbornly blank, and by the pain spreading from the mark that marrs her hand, she decides this is likely for the best. 

She can sense Frederick’s suspicious gaze, her lack of curiosity is questionable, but Flavia saves her from having to address it by speaking next, “Well, shall we get some rest? We're almost to the Plegian capital. We'll need all our strength, soon enough…”

She doesn’t need to finish her sentence for the mood to grow even more serious and Sparrow drags in a heavy breath to steady herself and bring her mind back to the more important matters. 

“I agree. It looks like there’s a safe spot just past these next dunes. Let’s set up there.” She says, striding forward without waiting for any other confirmation. The troops fall into line regardless, but this is perhaps helped by Chrom speaking no complaint and joining her at the head of the pack. She offers him a weak smile, her body still finding comfort in his presence, but he can hardly offer her that as when his eyes meet hers, he flushes a bright pink and stutters over some sort of greeting.

Thankfully, Frederick saves them both from any more awkwardness when he approaches Chrom to discuss the new tenting arrangements that would have to be made in order to accommodate their newest recruits. Neither say anything when Sparrow pauses her step so she can fall behind and part of her wonders if this had been nothing more than a ploy by Frederick to separate Chrom from the once again suspicious tactician. Sparrow smiles, nothing more than a quick quirk upwards of her lips, and finds herself relieved by the action. At least there is someone at camp with enough sense to distrust her. 

Their camp set up is swift and the secluded area is quickly filled with light chimes of laughter, restrained chatter, and the crackle of fires. Sparrow finds herself in an odd state of nothing to do after being chased from the kitchen. (She had offered to light the fire and aid with cooking, but when she took out her tome of fire magic, Lissa quickly amended her earlier request for help and shooed her away.) Her tent is already immaculate but Sparrow finds herself unable to rein in her thoughts well enough to let herself focus on any of the manuscripts she had brought with her. Despite her best efforts her mind insists on circling around the mark on her hand, the emblems on her cloak, and their potential connection to the Grimleal. And, to her absolute annoyance, she also finds herself skipping over to the feelings that kept arising every time she stood just a centimetre too close to Chrom. 

With a low huff, Sparrow continues her march through camp, her eyes desperately searching out a physical task she could occupy herself with. She had already passed the training grounds, but they were empty, and Sparrow is unsure that she wants to challenge the few people who would accept any offer to train.

She’s about ready to give up - the words in her mind growing louder in louder - and simply steal an axe to hack away at the slim collection of firewood they have, when she spots a medical tent and decides if her brain is going to insist on being overactive, it could at least focus itself on the most menial of tasks: checking supplies.

She’s in the middle of combing the makeshift medicine cabinet, checking for any decline in herbs and tonics, when she catches a voice from outside the tent. She feels herself pause automatically, her body instinctively preparing for battle though she has every right to be where she is, but as they approach she can make out the pattern of the pair’s steps, and realizes it’s most likely nothing more than a couple of soldiers gossiping while on patrol. 

“Hey, did you notice?” She hears one ask, low and secretive. The voice doesn’t ring familiar so she can safely assume it isn’t one of the Shepherds, and she quiets down even more so she can properly make out the rest of the conversation. Gossip, despite it’s terrible reputation, is one of the more reliable sources of information. Even if it isn’t true, the topic still showcases the reputations and interests of the group it’s making its way through. 

“Notice what?” The other asks, dull and uninterested. 

“The markings! On those Grimleal scum’s cloaks!” The first voice hisses and Sparrow stills completely. The items before her blur as all her focus goes to the pair outside.

“What about them?” The sentence is finished with a short yawn and a thwack, which Sparrow assumes is the first soldier demanding the other’s full attention. 

“They’re the same as the markings on that tactician’s cloak!” The soldier’s voice is angry and she can hear the distrust growing strong. A chill begins to creep up her spine and she has to clench her hands again to try and stop them from trembling. “What if she’s one of them and we’re walking into a giant trap?!”

Sparrow can’t blame the soldier for distrusting her, her own brain is quickly supplying her with the same thoughts on whether she can be trusted and where exactly she comes from. But, it seems the other soldier is either too tired for conspiracy theories, or has something akin to faith in her, as they reply, vaguely annoyed, “I don’t think so… It’s probably a coincidence… Why would Chrom hire the enemy?” 

Their conversation finally drifts off too far for her to hear and she feels relief pooling in her stomach, for a variety of reasons. One being she can’t hold off the snort that arises at that comment. Chrom would hire his worst enemy if it meant protecting the people he loved. Sparrow allows her mind to wander to him and wonders what he would say if he were to catch such a conversation happening. He seems strangely fond of her, having already defended her from Frederick, who she knows is his most trusted advisor, on several occasions now. She smiles a bit when she imagines Chrom stubbornly going, “I trust Sparrow with my life!” to a faceless soldier as she still finds the whole idea quite baffling. While she’s sure she’s earned at least some level of trust now, in the beginning she was nothing more than a potential threat that he never saw.

Her brain decides to become a traitor and also supplies her with the mental imagine of Chrom standing in close with his gentle smile and assuring her, “There’s nothing I could learn about you that would make me leave your side.”

A dark flush grows warm on her face and Sparrow automatically shakes her head to try and clear out said mental image as well as the red that refuses to vacate her cheeks. She ends up huffing in childlike indignation when this doesn’t work and storms from the tent. There was no medicine that needed to be replaced, but perhaps the weapons were starting to go. 

“Let's see... The lances and axes are kept around here somewhere... I'll just take a quick inventory and see if any need repairs or replacing…” She mumbles as she circles around several tents. She’s a touch lost and it’s quite annoying as it is because Flavia’s troops seemed to fail in keeping their layout the same, so Sparrow isn’t sure where the armoury actually is. She’s sure it was around the storage tent yesterday. “Somewhere...around here... Ah, here—the arms storage tent, I presume?”

It at least  _ looks _ like an arms storage tent, she can see the shadows of what seem to be weapons stretching out across the dark tent, and she can’t hear any sounds from within that would indicate it was something busier, so she decides to head straight in, making sure to to keep her running commentary going as it allows her to keep her traitorous brain on track, “All right then, I'll just head in and— “

Sparrow makes it four steps in before glancing up and realizing her absolutely terrible mistake. 

Chrom is naked. Chrom is very, very naked and standing not ten feet in front of her. She’s not entirely sure why, but she’s the one who ends up screaming, her face a very bright pink. This is  _ not _ what she needs at the moment and the only benefit is her mind is wiped completely  _ blank  _ by the situation.

“Sparrow?!” Chrom cries at her, spinning to face her in his shock and giving her a complete view of what the poster she had seen before had failed to include. “Where’d you come from?”

It’s a reasonable question, but Sparrow’s not quite ready for any sort of reasonable response, so she gives another scream, a little more high pitched this time around. 

“Blazes, what are YOU screaming for?” Chrom cries at her. It’s another very reasonable question as he scrambles to get some sort of safety behind the wash basin closest to him. “If anyone should be screaming it's me, isn't it? You aren't supp—OUCH! OW! Stop it! Stop throwing things! Hey, that's sharp! Don't—YEOWCH!”

She had fallen completely to base instincts, and base instinct immediately reached out to throw the first object her fingers could close around. When she goes over this incident later in her head, she realizes that this is really the worst plan, as it causes Chrom to duck and swerve and does not allow him any chance to seek some actually covering. Instincts, apparently, weren’t the best for naked encounters.

“Have you NO shame?!” She shouts at him, stepping  _ forward _ so she could grab a nearby soap dish. “Noble or not, you should AT LEAST wear a towel when you address a lady!”

“B-but, you—OW!—you were the one who walked in on me!” Chrom shouts back, hand flying to his ear when the soap dishes catches it quite hard. Sparrow finally hears him, remembering her place and pauses in her barrage of flying objects, as her logical thought process finally wakes and catches up with her. She meets his wide and baffled gaze, lets out one last small cry, and covers her eyes while spinning to put her back to him.

She doesn’t move, she’s not even sure why, and instead decides to count loudly in her head to drown out the noise of Chrom dressing himself. She makes it quite high before Chrom’s hand falls to her shoulder and she turns to face him, unfortunately coming uncomfortably close to his chest. 

She takes a short step back, cursing her height, and averts her gaze to the floor before slowly forming her apology, “…I… I’m sorry, Chrom.”

It’s a bit of a pathetic apology, but there’s not many more words she can trust herself to try at this moment.

“Are we done throwing things?” He asks. She flinches back a bit, but relaxes when she can’t make out any tone of anger. Nodding, she goes to try and explain herself.

“I think. ...I don't know what happened. Something just snapped and…” She’s sure there was some semblance of a thought process, but it was most likely ‘Chrom naked. Can’t have Chrom naked. Make Chrom go away.’ which isn’t the most brilliant plan to ever come from her. Chrom takes it well regardless.

“Well, no harm done. The gods' justice, perhaps, for my earlier blunder!” He laughs, and she’s close enough she can almost feel the laugh move through his body. She finally lets herself look up, and she feels the tension in her shoulders relax at the sight of his easy going grin. 

“Well, anyway, thanks for being so good natured about it all.” She gives her own weak laugh and a short nod to show her gratitude. Her hands twitch lightly when she notices the red splotch on his left ear and she has to hold herself back from reaching out to touch him. “I feel terrible about that soap dish. How's your ear doing?”

His smile relaxes into one to give reassurance, and he lifts his own hand to gently rub at it.

“Better. It still stings a little, but better. In any case, look on the bright side: we've seen each other naked now, right? So I guess we've got nothing left to hide. In a way, we're closer than ever.”

The proud and pleased tone he takes cause Sparrow to balk back a touch, unsure of how to take the remark. She searches his face for a moment and finds nothing but genuine delight unmarred by anything… perverted. He genuinely seems to believe this is a wonderful occurrence, or he is at least so optimistic he is able to find such a pure bonus for such an awkward encounter. 

“Not the most appropriate way for a man and woman to get to know each other…” Sparrow says slowly, still unsure, but eventually this doubt falls away. It isn’t as if they could take it back. They might as well find the humour in it. “But...I suppose as long as nobody else knows…”

Chrom laughs again, his cheeky grin returning as he claps her shoulder. “It's like we're partners in crime sharing an unsavoury past! Anything that brings us closer will make us stronger on the battlefield. Just you wait.”

“Partners in crime?” She parrots back at him before letting out a quiet giggle. There’s a warm feeling spreading quickly inside her, replacing the earlier chill that had frozen her spine when listening to the distrust of the unnamed soldier.  “I like the thought of that.” 

There’s an easy air Sparrow feels grow between them, now that their ridiculous run in has been dealt with, but she soon makes another terrible mistake as she lets herself fall into Chrom’s space a touch more than she should while meeting his gaze straight on. There’s an odd fluttering that grows in her stomach and his smile seems to grow in slow motion and— _ oh _ —Sparrow quickly realizes just how awful this situation has suddenly become. 

_ Oh no. _

She pulls both herself and her gaze away, and attempts to halt the conversation. “Well, partner, your secret's safe with me…” she jokes, clipping her tone so she can create a sense of distance, while moving back to make her escape. Sparrow, despite her multitude of mistakes this evening, is not an idiot and knows she needs space to organize her thoughts on this new discovery and make a plan on how to handle it. Chrom, however, seems reluctant to let her off so easily. 

“What were you looking for anyways?” He asks, innocently enough, just before she can reach the entrance. Sparrow mentally curses him, despite the legitimacy of his question. She’s not sure she can come up with any sort of explanation for her mistake that would keep all of her dignity in tack. Turning only half her body to him, trying to keep a casual appearance, she unknowingly mimics one of his tics, awkwardly running her hands through the hair above her right ear. 

“Um. I was actually looking for the armoury…” she replies, attempting to keep her tone light-hearted to pretend that embarrassment isn’t rapidly rising in her. She can feel it already ready to repaint her cheeks that infernal pink colour. 

“That’s halfway across camp.” Chrom informs her, equal parts shocked and amused. Sparrow’s hand involuntarily clenches and tugs on a tangle in her hair, though she ignores that and the pain.

Of course it is.

“Well, guess I know where to go now! So, I’ll, uh, leave you to it!” Sparrow scrambles a bit near the end, desperate now to put some proper space between the two of them, and her words and footsteps both suffer from this. She is proud she only trips after she manages to get herself  _ outside _ the tent and quickly speeds up her pace to a brisk jog when she finds her balance. She knows Frederick makes a habit of checking their weaponry, Chrom having reminded her of her original purpose, so she doesn’t feel too bad when she abandons this job to go seek Sully out. 

After three failures and nearly running into a huffy Maribelle, Sparrow manages finds the horse rider relaxing in her tent, her lance being meticulously taken care of in her lap. 

“Sully, I have a problem.” Sparrow tells her immediately, deciding there’s no time for small talk. She’s slightly out of breath and there’s just a touch of panic staining her voice and she can only imagine what Sully must think this is going to be about. Sully stops her polishing as soon as Sparrow speaks and watches her with a piercing gaze, as if she could parse the problem by simply looking at her.

“What kind of problem?” Sully asks when this doesn’t yield any results. Sparrow’s quick with her reply.

“I have feelings.” She explains, her voice surprisingly stable.

Sparrow watches Sully’s eyes widen for a brief second before narrowing in confusion and hesitation, “… For me?”

“No!” Sparrow squeaks, her own eyes widening, before backing up and trying to save herself. Sully is an attractive woman and Sparrow doesn’t want her to feel insulted by her quick reply. “I mean, not that I couldn’t, or, that you’re not pretty but, no, I—“

Sully, thankfully, has no time for her rambling and cuts her off with a decisive, “Then I can’t help you.”

“What? Why?” Sparrow asks, partly betrayed, partly curious. She’s sure they have formed some form of friendship in their time together and she knows from watching others and what her brain is able to supply her with in regards to friendship that friends discussed things such as… feelings.  

“I’m not good at talking about feelings and all that crap, ya gotta find someone else.” Sully explains, her focus going right back to the weapon in her lap.

Sparrows makes an attempt to tell her that she too is just as awful when it comes to handling feelings, which is why she sought her out, but when Sully catches her trying to speak, she shifts the lance so she can wave it threateningly several inches from Sparrow’s face, so Sparrow backs down with a childish whine. 

“Go find someone else.” Sully instructs her. “They’ll give you better advice.”

Sparrow has to bite back the comment assuring Sully that her advice would probably be just fine, as she doesn’t wish to impose on the others, and bids her good night, making her way back out into the night air. She’s slouching into her cloak again, a comforting action most likely from childhood she realizes idly as she fidgets and picks at her gloves. She quickly runs through a mental list of people she could potentially discuss her discovery with, which is  _ terribly _ small she realizes with a jolt, before deciding on Stahl and darting off to find the man.

He’s not terribly hard to find, and he’s thankfully away from the group, tending to his horse in the convoy’s makeshift stable. It’s dim, which provides Sparrow with some courage. The only light is coming in faint whispers from the stars and moon, and the weak lanterns Stahl had collected to light the area. Sparrow can’t spot any other horse rider seeing to their charge and wastes no time in approaching him and informing him of her visit.

“Stahl, I have feelings.” She says and she can tell it’s abrupt and perhaps a bit too forward, but her mind is a bit of a mess which is why she has to insist on this conversation. She needs to bring some semblance of order back to her body. 

Stahl pauses in his brushing and turns to her slowly. He’s wearing a puzzled expression and doesn’t seem entirely sure where this conversation is going to go, but is willing to humour her at the very least, replying, “So do I.”

Sparrow nods. This is a good start. He hasn’t waved her off at least. She opens her mouth to give better context, but ends up fumbling on the rest of her words as she’s not quite sure where to even  _ start _ . Stahl remains patient with her and simply waits for her to put her thoughts in order. When she does decide on a starting point, she gives a curt nod, mostly to herself. Confirming her feelings were what she suspected them to be is the best first step, as Sparrow knows she is still ignorant of many things and she could very well be confusing her problematic romantic feelings for feelings of simple fondness or gratitude. 

“Chrom.” She says finally. “How do you feel about Chrom?”

Sparrow looks up to watch him and if Stahl is confused by the topic, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he actually takes the time to think over his answer, humming thoughtfully as he slowly runs his hand down his horse’s neck. 

“He’s a good leader. I really enjoy following him. He’s very easy to get along with.” He says eventually and Sparrow eagerly nods along. This is a wide held belief by many of the troops, she’s sure, so it’s hardly a surprise she feels the same.  

“Do you think he’s handsome?” She tries next with only a small hesitation. Sparrow knows that finding another attractive plays a part in romantic feelings, but she also knows she finds many of the Shepherds attractive, though this hardly meant she wished to become their romantic partner. Sparrow still knows this question is quite silly, as she is more using it as an excuse to accept her finding Chrom handsome over anything else. 

Stahl pauses again but does answer eventually, with a rather thoughtful, “Well, yes, I suppose he is.”

Sparrow nods again, letting this in. So far it seems as though her own feelings could be nothing more than fondness for her leader, a feeling shared by the Shepherds. She had gone in looking to learn more about Chrom and why he is the way he is, it’s not surprising she would develop a level of fondness. 

Shifting on her feet, Sparrow takes a small breath, hesitating a bit on her next question. As her anxiety begins to spike again, she realizes she’s reluctant to ask as it would be her finally admitting to her own feelings, while also discovering whether they are what she originally feared they were. With an encouraging smile from Stahl, she manages to find a quiet voice to ask this decisive question.

“Do you ever get flustered when you stand too close to him?” She’s desperately hopeful and slightly surprised she’s able to bring herself to ask. But, despite her inner anxiety, when Sparrow looks up at Stahl, she knows she is safe. Stahl has always been a reassuring presence to her, since the very beginning, and she knows even if he confirms her suspicions, there would be no consequences. This is a comfort that Sparrow does not feel often.  

She watches as his eyes widen in brief shock before softening in understanding. When he speaks, his tone is gentle, but it still breaks a small part of Sparrow anyways. 

“No, I… I can’t say that I do.”

Dammit. 

“Oh…” Sparrow replies, taking this in along with a shaky breath. 

“Do... Do you?” Stahl asks tentatively, reaching out to confirm he too is understanding their conversation. Sparrow, however, is decidedly quiet, her hands moving together to allow herself to rub and tug at her fingers.

“And you also don’t ever want to hold his hand I take it?” She asks, answering his question by refusing to. There’s a guilty tone colouring her words and she nearly splits her bottom lip after biting it at the look of full understanding and sympathy that comes from Stahl. 

“No, can’t say I that I do.” he repeats softly. 

Double dammit. 

Sparrow can feel the dread and acceptance that’s settling in her stomach shifting her expression as her earlier realization completely sinks in. She finds herself thinking back to her dream, or whatever it happened to be, and she remembers just how badly she needed to protect Chrom, even then. She remembers how, even on their first meeting, how her urge to hold him when she stood too close was ridiculously strong. Something clicks in Sparrow, and she realizes that this was perhaps inevitable. 

“Stahl…” she whimpers, slowly collapsing to the ground, dejected and annoyed. “He’s very handsome.”

She doesn’t say the actual confession aloud, part of her perhaps still refusing to admit she is in love with her general, but she knows Stahl understands. As she slouches into a seated position on the ground, her head falls back to hit the wooden stable with a hard thump. She knocks her head against it one more time for good measure before ducking her head with a groan as her head begins to rifle through images of Chrom doing stupidly handsome things like  _ smiling _ and  _ laughing _ and  _ walking _ . 

“I know.” Stahl replies, crouching low to awkwardly pat her shoulder and offer up some comfort. “It’s a shame his stew tastes like soap.”

This brings out a surprised laugh from her, distracting her from the distantly approaching tears, and she turns her gaze back to him with a trembling smile, “Does it actually?” 

Stahl gives her a secretive smile and nods his head, “It really does.” 

Stahl, Sparrow decides, is another one of the gods’ gifts to them. He listens to her sigh and groan over her feelings without judgment. He even spends much too long working through the tangles in his horse’s mane so she could properly vent out all of her feelings. (She knows this as she hears the exasperated huff that comes from his horse when he tries to rework the same knot for the eighth time.)

“What are you going to do?” He asks as they make their way back to camp. Sparrow takes her time in replying as she goes over the options open to her in her head. She can hardly confess her feelings, the timing is terrible and there’s is hardly a chance they would be returned. She doesn’t wish to enter a relationship with anyone else as an attempt to rid her feelings and something in her says her love for Chrom is not something that’s about to disappear anytime soon. The blurred image of Chrom’s death also comes unbidden, reminding her that she also does not  _ deserve _ anything akin to Chrom’s love. 

In truth, she knows, she has only one option. 

“Nothing.” Sparrow tells him. “My feelings are my own and I won’t pretend they’ll ever be returned or that they should ever be. I also have something much more important to focus on than a silly crush.”

Stahl makes an almost pained and pitying sound but Sparrow interrupts him before he can speak, “I’ll be okay, Stahl. Thank you for listening to me. It helped.” 

She bids him farewell as soon as they enter camp - something in his tone told her he would try and convince her of something she knew could never be true - and makes her way to her own tent. She passes several Shepherds and soldiers as she makes her way there, and is very pleased when she can pull up a very convincing smile as she greets them. 

_ We have a war to win _ . Sparrow firmly reminds herself, pulling open the flaps of her tent.  _ And we need to be nothing more than Chrom’s tactician.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter and I hope you do too!!! it's a bit of light-hearted fun before the next couple of chapters.   
> my fav thing my beta said was: sparrow.exe has stopped working  
> I lost it. it's a perfect summary for this chapter tbh
> 
> Stahl is a good man and a good friend c':  
> the "it's a shame his stew tastes like soap" is a line from a friend of mine I had to put in sdfg
> 
> Enjoy!!


	8. The Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9

Sparrow wakes the next morning to a feeling of acceptance and lets out only a single sigh before pushing herself to stand and begin prepping for the day. There’s a sense of sadness that continues to echo in her, but she placates it best she can by having it reside with the sense of terror and anxiety that also refuses to leave her and she finds it’s as if nothing has changed when she approaches Chrom and the others to fully explain her plan to rescue Emmeryn. 

She’s exceedingly grateful for the additional troops provided by Flavia and Basilio, and more so for the faith they have in her as they give no complaints when she provides them their roles. It all seems to go too easy, which spikes another sort of unease in Sparrow but she tries to push past it. As long as they are prepared, they can win. They  _ have _ to.

They discuss the idea of moving closer to the capital, but ultimately decide against it. Their current camp is only a few hours from Gangrel’s castle and gave all the troops easier access to the entrances they would need to find in order to accomplish their goal. The camp’s seclusion also provides them with protection, which allows them to more comfortably rest and train for the approaching trial. 

Sparrow is delighted to be freed from marching but finds herself finally succumbing to the brutal Plegian heat regardless. She spends much of her day cramped in a sun beaten tent repeatedly going over and over her plan. She nearly runs herself ragged and works right past two meals as she focuses her energy on informing troops of their roles, switching groups when new claims are made, and reorganizing entry ways when new information on layouts is acquired. The tent becomes quite stifling and Sparrow actually has to wipe some sweat from her brow at midday, though she refuses to remove her cloak. She eventually remembers to drink water, but this is only when her vision momentarily blurs and Vaike is forced to catch her when she slips after attempting to turn and gather a scroll from behind her. 

(She lies when he asks if she’s eaten, but he brings her some swiped snacks from their stores anyways.)

It’s late in the afternoon and the tent has finally cooled somewhat when one of Basilio’s spies returns from the castle. She collects the other leaders of their group quickly when the spy arrives in the tent and when they’ve all gathered, he gives them the confirmation they need: Emmeryn is to be killed tomorrow. Sparrow lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and feels her grip tighten on the table situated between the group.

“This is it, then.” Basilio comments, his usually boastful attitude finally subdued it seems, by the severity of their situation. 

“Exactly as you predicted, Sparrow.” Chrom says, turning to her with his usual amount of pride and awe. Sparrow makes sure to duck her head, though she is not feigning any humility, it’s more to hide her anxiety. 

“So far, yes.” She admits, her eyes sweeping across the table, trying to spot any tiny detail she might have missed that could cause their demise. “But tomorrow will be the true test…”  

Throughout the day her worry has built up on itself, and she knows it will not be quelled until they are within their final battle. Her mind is incessant in its thoughts on what could go wrong, but her troop seems unwilling to humour such thoughts, with both Flavia and Chrom pushing her to keep her spirit up. 

“Don't worry. This time tomorrow, we'll be swapping stories with Emm on the road home.” Chrom tells her, his hope shining brightly on his face as his hand falls to her shoulder.

She manages a mirrored attempt at a cheerful smile and tucks her trembling hands within the folds of her cloak. “I hope you’re right.”

The evening finds Sparrow still worrying over the table, her fingers constant fidgeting as she shifts the makeshift mini troops across the map before changing her mind and putting them in the exact same position as before. This is how Chrom finds her, mumbling almost incomprehensibly, and his face immediately becomes one of concern. He approaches her and she half jumps from him for several reasons when his voice sounds very close to her ear, “Sparrow, have you had dinner yet?” 

She quickly steadies herself, not wishing to give Chrom any reason to grab her, and throws him a small smile before focusing on a smudge on the map, pretending it could give her the answer to all her problems, “Good evening, Chrom. Yes, I have.”

She hears the disbelieving huff from him and feels she’s walked into a trap.

“Then why hasn’t Lissa seen you at the dining tent?” He asks and Sparrow can’t help the annoyed look she shoots him. He doesn’t seem angry, which she’s relieved by, but he does seem bothered and quickly encroaches on her space despite her inward plea for him to stay back. “Come on, Sparrow, you need to get out of this tent.”

Sparrow, who had returned to staring down her map, is given only a second to form the beginning of a quizzical, “Huh?” before Chrom is grabbing her arm and hauling her outside. She tries to protest, but Chrom refuses to listen, stating she had lost her chance after lying to him. Sparrow feels she could have come up with an explanation for this, but Chrom’s pulled her in quite close, so she becomes flustered, especially when she hears many of the soldiers and Shepherds they pass call out teasing remarks. 

“Chrom, I  _ can _ walk.” She insists as she fails to tug her arm from his grip. He seems quite proud of himself, and just grins down at her and says something about “making sure” that brings another scowl across her face. She  _ was _ going to eat… eventually.

Thankfully, Stahl comes to her rescue as soon as they enter the dining tent. Moving so swiftly even she doesn’t catch him, he’s suddenly at her side with a beaming smile, saying, “Oh! Sparrow! I needed to ask you some questions!” and before Chrom can collect himself to huff out any sort of rejection, Stahl’s left arm is circling Sparrow’s shoulders and she’s being whisked off to the table where a rather confused Sully is sitting. 

While they miss the flicker of irritation that grows on their leader’s face by their mini show, Sully doesn’t, and questions the both of them as they sit. Stahl just wears his familiar look of confusion while Sparrow makes a small face and shrugs. 

“He dragged me here to eat. Maybe that’s why?” Sparrow offers, her stomach growling when she spots Stahl’s plate of rather delicious looking meat. Stahl is an absolute gentleman and Sparrow gives him a look of gratitude when he slides his plate over before wasting no time in shoving a rather large slice of meat into her mouth. Sully only cocks a brow, her gaze going back to Chrom, who had been called away by Frederick, as she gives a disbelieving hum of acknowledgment. Sparrow’s much too busy eating to pay any attention.

Sparrow’s grateful, by evening’s end, to Chrom for forcing her from her tent, as the thorns of panic slowly loosen their grip as she laughs and relaxes in her conversation with Stahl and Sully. They’re interrupted eventually by Vaike marching over and challenging Sully to an arm wrestling competition after she loudly claims she could take down any one of the Shepherds. Sparrow is key to Sully’s victory, though neither of them plan on this, when Sparrow decides to tease Vaike by blowing a kiss at him, not expecting the flustered and distracted response she gets for it which allows Sully to slam the man’s hand  _ hard _ into the table. 

She joins in the loud laughter that sounds immediately after this as Vaike sputters and shouts, indignant and vocal, accusing Sparrow of cheating. He demands a rematch, though he’s mostly ignored as Sully focuses more on showing off her biceps, but even if Sully wished to indulge him, Chrom’s voice cuts across the tent and orders them all to bed. 

Sparrow debates returning to the tent to continue strategizing, but Stahl insists on walking her to her sleeping quarters and she finds she doesn’t have the energy to go against his gentle, “Good night.” so she just lets out a loud yawn and crawls into bed with hardly an attempt to change into her sleeping clothes.

Sleep comes quickly, despite her previous anxiety, and it’s not long till she’s falling away from her quiet counting of the patrolling soldier’s footsteps into a dark abyss. As she slips through the blackness, however, a dim sense of discomfort begins to encircle her, pinning her limbs and catching her lungs in a tight grip. Sparrow finds the feeling distantly familiar and forces her squinting eyes open. 

She’s no longer in her tent. In fact, Sparrow realizes with a cold jolt, she doesn’t seem to be anywhere at all. The inky blackness ensnaring her is both disgustingly familiar and terrifyingly cold all at the same time. As she becomes more aware, she attempts to move different parts of her body, but finds everything stubbornly unresponsive. The only thing she seems to have relative control over are her eyes, and even they only give a light flicker when she tries to locate anything that could give her a better understanding of the situation. 

Footsteps begin to lightly echo in her ear and Sparrow slams her eyes shut to try to place herself back in her tent, with the soldiers and the Shepherds and  _ Chrom,  _ but she is unsuccessful and soon a familiar laugh joins in the empty chamber and the mark on her hand begins to burn. 

“Master Grima,” a voice sounds out and Sparrow feels her eyes slowly open to take in the man before her. Her brain seems to stutter on all the information it’s being forced to take in, and an icy hand squeezes her lungs as she recognizes the would-be assassin grinning at her, surrounded by an almost otherworldly purple glow. “Exalt Emmeryn is to be put to death on the morrow. Events will soon be back on course.” 

The dark joy she had sensed from him the night he died returns to his face and Sparrow desperately tries to lunge forward to rip it from him, but the body she seems to be inhabiting refuses to even offer the man a single word, not that he seems to mind. 

Sparrow is forced to watch, once more nothing but a puppet on another’s string, as the man paces before her, laughing with a dark glee that she wants so badly to shatter in her hands. She can’t seem to focus well enough to put any information in proper order, and spoken words are fading fast from her memory. She knows she is not herself, and yet, she knows she is in her own body. The man breaks her train of thought and she scrambles to keep up with him, her vision beginning to fade.

“Yes, I should never have doubted the truth in your words.” He says with too sharp a grin, “The yoke of destiny cannot be cast off! Even as they resist, they write your future with every step, O great one!”

The body still refuses to speak though Sparrow can feel herself desperately crying for answers. She’s fading faster now, disconnecting from the body and the scene before her, a high voice is starting to seep into her consciousness and the last thing Sparrow see’s before shooting up in her bed with a loud cry, is an all too familiar tacticians robe, glowing with the same purple light.

“Sparrow?” Lissa calls as Sparrow doubles over herself and begins taking in as many shaking breaths as she can. “Hey, Sparrow! What's wrong? Was it a nightmare?”

_ A… nightmare?  _

Sparrow blinks as she slowly feels her body orienting itself, her fingers clenching and spreading within the soft folds of her blanket as the faint chatter of the soldiers outside filters in through her ears. When she looks up, she finds Lissa standing tall above her, a vaguely worried expression pursing her lips into a small pout she often wears when troubled by her comrades. Sparrow forces her hands to relax as she tries to pull herself back together.

“Is...that what it was? Y-yes, it must have been... I'm sorry, what brings you here, Lissa? Was there something you needed?” Her voice is frail and stammering, but she finds some comfort and ease when she falls back to easy and practiced lines. She hopes she hides any indication of the fear swimming within her.

“Frederick says it’s time to march. And we can’t start our plan without our master tactician!” Lissa chirps, her mood immediately brightening. Sparrow can’t quite give her the same amount of enthusiasm back, but does make a heartfelt attempt at a smile. 

“O-Oh, yes, um, just give me a moment, I need to find my cloak.” Lissa gives her a confused look that Sparrow can’t quite figure out, but she leaves nonetheless with a hesitant affirmation. It’s only when Sparrow stands and feels the weight of her cloak straightening out, that she remembers she had worn it to bed. 

She unconsciously balls her right hand into a fist and finds herself grateful to her past self when she realizes she had also worn her gloves to bed, so she’s not forced to bear witness to the purple welt that defaces her hand. There’s still a lingering trace of pain that resides in it, and it grows when Sparrow makes the vain attempt to better recall the nightmare. She finds, even as she continues to cycle through the scraps of information still carried by her mind as she packs up and loads her tent, that she can recall nothing besides the colour purple and the feeling of panic. She  _ knows _ she saw someone, a scrap of a light laugh even filters through when she pushes herself to bring a form to him, but when she’s close to retrieving the person’s image, Chrom breaks her thought process and ruins any chance of her being able to get it back. 

“Are you ready, Sparrow?” He asks, his outward visage an image of hope and determination, but Sparrow catches the worry buried deep within his words. She decides to forget the dream. Chrom needed her more at the moment.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Her plan works perfectly though she hardly gives herself time to marvel over this before she’s calling everyone to battle. She has her Shepherds only, with Basilio and other spread out on their own missions and Flavia holding down the guard on anyone who dare approach Emmeryn stuck too high in the sky. Gangrel’s downfall had been his flamboyance, and she holds back a snort when continues to make a show of himself as he demands their deaths. 

“Not while I draw breath…” She grumbles under her breath, mimicking one of her favourite phrases she had caught Frederick crying out while protecting Chrom from an archer several battles ago. 

She does laugh though, exhausted and windswept, when Chrom once more manages to acquire  _ two more _ allies on their sandy battlefield. She catches a hint of a pink flush when he turns abruptly from the blond cleric and feels an abrupt chill when the Plegian dark mage he wins over turns her gaze and stares directly into her. 

They’re soon on victory’s doorstep, the pegasus riders standing tall and proud just below the shadow of the pillar carrying their Exalt, when Sparrow is suddenly forced to watch everything crumble before her. They  _ had _ Gangrel _ ,  _ completely at their mercy, but as they step forward to gift him with his well earned death, the Risen’s cry pierces through the wind and Sparrow feels her stomach  _ drop _ . 

“...Risen?!” She cries, her right hand lashing out and latching onto Chrom to steady the stumble she faces when her knees almost jerk out from beneath her, fatigue and shock stealing her balance. “Oh gods, no! Chrom! There are Risen everywhere!”

They’re absolutely surrounded and Sparrow can feel her mind working faster than she has ever asked it too, and still she can see no way they can win, and as the Risen archers prepare their bows, she has to watch in abject horror as every single pegasus rider is swiftly shot down.

“No no no…” Sparrow whimpers, her fingers curling tightly into Chrom’s arm. She can’t even find the energy to move to an appropriate distance when Chrom shifts his posture and presses into her side.

“We’ve lost…” He states, his faint words practically lost to the sand still curling around their feet. 

“I believe this is what they call a reversal of fortunes.” Gangrel cheers before turning towards the pair of them.  “Now...grovel before me. Plead! Beg for your worthless lives!”

“I'd give up my life before I'd beg for it from you.” Chrom spits and Sparrow has to lurch to stop him from stepping straight into doing just that. She moves one hand just below his shoulder blade to steady him and spreads another across his chest, pressing down hard to keep him still as Gangrel’s high toned laugh rings out loudly. The Mad King’s flamboyance only grows as he taunts Chrom into action. Sparrow doesn’t risk breathing out a single word and keeps her focus on keeping Chrom from running to his death at every ill spoken word that reaches them. 

Not a single Shepherd dares move as Gangrel lays out his threats, and Sparrow finds her thoughts jumbling and breaking as she tries to order them and find a way out of this mess with at least  _ one _ member of royalty left alive to rule. She flicks her gaze up to Gangrel only when she hears the king fall to a falsely sweet tone and offer them a bargain—the Fire Emblem for their lives. 

She immediately knows it is a lie, Gangrel would not lose his show for a simple trade, no matter how powerful the stupid shield shaped emblem may be. Sparrow had managed to find some scripts describing the Fire Emblem, but the more she learned about it, the more an irritated feeling began to grow and twitch in her fingers, so she gave up after discerning enough basics to keep her knowledgeable in a variety of conversations. She knows enough to know they could not leave it with the like of him.

“Chrom!” She hisses when she hears him struggle with a response, her fingers pressing harder into his skin, “You can’t trust him!”

“Of COURSE I can’t trust him! I'm not an idiot!” Chrom shouts and shakes his head. He almost shrugs her off so Sparrow loosens her grip, taking a tentative step back, but almost as soon as he falls out of her space, he’s falling back into her, one of his hands flying to his face as he agonizes over this trick of a choice, “But if I just say no, he'll kill her! The gods are cruel, damn them! My sister or my duty... A problem with no right answer, yet I must choose!”

Sparrow knows telling him he’ll kill her regardless of his choice will aid no one as well as she knows their giving up the Fire Emblem would aid no one, and paints her voice with a desperate and soothing tone when she speaks to Chrom next, “We.. We have to sacrifice Emmeryn, Chrom. I know it's hard to admit, Chrom, but it's the only choice. Compared to the lives of thousands, one person, any one person, is—“

It’s the most logical choice, even amongst the chaos, Sparrow knows this. If they were to step forward, lay down their weapons, and offer the Emblem, they would  _ all _ die. Gangrel would see quickly to that. They need to keep their distance from the man until she could figure out a way of escape. She does not wish for Emmeryn’s death, but losing one piece to ensure the safety of the rest is a move any player knows to make. 

Chrom, of course, does not tend to follow the most logical process, and reacts much more with his heart and emotions, so Sparrow figures she shouldn’t be surprised by his adamant disagreement, but she jolts a couple steps back anyways as he loudly shouts, “DON'T! Just...don't say it.”

Gangrel continues to laugh at them and Sparrow does nothing to hide the venomous glares she shoots at him in response. To find some cruel joy in the sorrow of so many is something she refuses to understand. His words grow only more barbed as he paces across the stones he stands tall on and even with the small distance between them, she can feel Chrom growing cold and still. When he speaks, it’s with a chill and hatred that Sparrow never wished could ever flower in him.

“We'll see, when the time comes. But first, I'll see you dead.”

Sparrow can see in his body he’s getting ready to strike, and prepares herself to make what would likely be a futile attempt at stopping him, when Emmeryn’s voice rings out, loud and clear. Everyone’s focus is immediately drawn to her, and despite the danger they’re all in, Sparrow still feels a sense of calm curling in her stomach at the sight of an unbowed Emmeryn. 

Emmeryn’s heart is still immensely kind, and she tries to reason with Gangrel, though the Mad King does nothing but scorn her and continue in his demands on the Emblem. Chrom’s heart is still bleeding, and he breaks from Sparrow to submit to Gangrel’s will. Chrom nearly shoves Sparrow’s hands from his person when she tries to stop him and before she can harbour any sort of pain at this action, they’re both being distracted by Emmeryn’s voice calling to them once more from above. 

“Chrom... Th-thank you. I know now what I must do…” She says, gratitude and sadness claiming equal parts to her voice and Sparrow feels her eyes widen in understanding. Even Chrom’s word are lost to her as Sparrow comes to a dead stop, watching Emmeryn address both her loved ones and enemies in the same heartfelt tone. 

“Plegians! I ask that you hear the truth of my words! War will win you nothing but sadness and pain, both inside your borders and out. Free yourselves from this hatred! From this cycle of pain and vengeance. Do what you must... As I will do. See now that one selfless act has the power to change the world!”

Her voice is resolute, without a single detectable tremor. She wears a dignity that Sparrow could never hope to imitate and Sparrow can only turn in a vague daze when Chrom knocks past her, shouting for his sister as he frantically races down the worn stone pathway. His voice carries far and he seems to pray his feet could carry him farther, though Sparrow knows he knows he has no hope of every reaching her. Sparrow finds her feet are made of the heaviest iron, and the world has slowed as she returns to watching Emmeryn watch the crowd who has become deathly silent. She’s unable to read her expression, but she can see the determination set into her body as Emmeryn approaches the edge of the structure, raises her hands, and tips forward. 

“I lost.” Sparrow finds herself mumbling, eyes as wide as a naive child’s, unable to tear her gaze from Emmeryn’s falling body. Emmeryn manages to retain her grace in her suicide and a child’s prayer whispers in Sparrow’s head that perhaps the gods could be kind and the earth would catch her with the soft embrace of a mother. When Emmeryn hits the ground, however, there’s only a dull thud, and this prayer is extinguished. Sparrow too collapses to the unforgiving and stalwart earth, mirroring the prince not twenty feet before her. She knows this was the most logical plan, perhaps the only plan they had, as well as Emmeryn’s final gift to them. But even this logic can’t quell the trembling in her hands and the sob threatening to overtake her throat. 

“Oh gods…” She whimpers, and suddenly the world clicks back into its regular speed with both Chrom and Lissa screaming, their cries mixing terribly with the disgusting laugh that Gangrel relishes in. 

Sparrow still refuses to understand the joy he feels in watching such an event. He continues to preen, and it’s only her disgust that pushes her to her feet and lets her begin to take some faltering steps forward so she could reach both Chrom and his now late sister. She’s not sure what she can do, but she knows she needs to be at his side. She’s just a touch out of reach of him when Chrom launches to his feet, snarling for Gangrel’s death. 

“No, boy!” Basilio suddenly shouts, both he and Flavia marching into view. They begin herding the Shepherds, forcing them from the sorrow caging them. “I secured an escape route! We have to flee!”

“B-but…” Chrom hesitates, body finally beginning to weaken and sway, as he attempts to turn to the body that lays still another fifteen feet before him. “Her body... I have to…”

Basilio isn’t having it, and Sparrow can hear the frustration in his voice as she reaches Chrom. 

“You have to RUN! Now do it!” Basilio demands, before pinning his gaze on her. “Sparrow! Don’t let him do anything stupid!” 

Sparrow feels her entire body balk from the command. What makes him think she has any semblance of control over Chrom? She gives him a weak nod regardless, and slowly reaches out to grab Chrom’s forearm. He flinches back from her touch and Sparrow too pulls back as if she’s been burned. Chrom’s gaze is filled with a sense of loss and anger that Sparrow knows she could never understand, so she just tries her hand at what she knows is most likely to get Chrom to move.

“Li-Lissa,” She starts haltingly, remembering the young princess is behind a wall not far from them and much too close to the Plegians she’s sure are closing in. “We need to get Lissa out of here.” 

Sparrow knows she made a mistake telling Chrom they couldn’t give up the Fire Emblem, she knew as soon as the words, despite their logic, left her mouth, but she could never have imagined the anger Chrom was able to carry towards her. She can hear the Shepherd’s shouts mixing with Gangrel’s booming voice as Basilio begins to guide them to their escape route, but she knows Chrom is still no closer to leaving.

“Mi-Milord, please..” She stammers, her posture becoming more reminiscent of a servants than a tacticians, “We need to get to safety.” 

Sparrow finds she’s unable to look up to read Chrom’s expression, and the air is laced with so many energies she can hardly attempt to make a guess at his body posture. She feels her hands are trembling and Sparrow realizes belatedly she’s never felt more terrified in her life. Her plan failed. They’ve lost Emmeryn. And now, they’re being forced to retreat, hardly able to preserve any sense of honour or dignity at all. She is hardly a tactician worthy of any place in anyone’s troop, but, she knows she still needs to do her best with whatever remaining time she has as Ylisse’s.

She allows herself to only watch Chrom’s feet, her body silent and trembling, and after an agonizing minute, she hears him release a sigh and watches them leave her sight as he passes her with a muted sound of acknowledgement. Sparrow refuses to lift her gaze even as she turns to follow them, even when they join with the rest of their Shepherds and pick their pace up to a quick jog. In fact, the only thing that raises her head are the raindrops that begin to descend on them with little warning and in great earnest. She almost pauses, eyeing the dark sky in awe, her mind supplying her with the gentle thought of, “The sky is in mourning,” but Basilio is apparently quite done with any delays and yanks on her arm to keep her moving forward hard enough that she lets out a small yelp. 

She sees from the corner of her eye, Chrom almost instinctively turn to her, but he’s a couple steps behind her now that Basilio has pulled at her so he doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t believe there are any he can say that would help regardless, and the troop remains deathly silent as the sky continues in its aching, raindrops falling as heavy as the tear stains down the Shepherd’s faces. 

  
_ The sky is in mourning _ . Sparrow repeats to herself, falling away from Basilio. A title is falling to her tongue, a story with it, but she clenches her chilled fingers into tight fists to prevent them from trying to reach out for a figure that she knows has long since left her. It’s voice still sounds in her head though, mingling with her own.   _ And it’s mourning will only end with you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a DOUBLE UPDATE! my roomie surprised me by editing two chapters today. a bit of a mood change with this one but if you know the game you knew this was coming :c 
> 
> and bc I always stress abt it not being obvious, the hidden figure/forgotten voice that's been mentioned a few times is Sparrow's mother. it just can't like.. really be mentioned cause Sparrow doesn't know who it is. thanks amnesia. Sparrow has it very rough in this chapter this poor girl
> 
> Only 3 chapters left!!! we're so close


	9. The Rise and Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10

The rain is heavy and persistent and Sparrow feels its chill seeping into her bones. They’ve left behind the sandy dunes and malevolent sun for rocky terrain and unforgiving mud that catches many Shepherds off guard. Their yelps as they slip sometimes the only other audible sound against the pouring rain.

The Shepherds on horseback are the only ones who stay clean, though they must keep their focus on their horse to prevent any disastrous falls. Both Stahl and Sully offer their horse to the others that seem to be struggling the most, but Basilio rejects this, reminding them they have no time for any delays. 

Sparrow hears Sully grumble it would hardly take more than a couple minutes to switch, but is soon distracted by a faint sniffling sound. When she recognizes it, she snaps her gaze up to locate the ever crying Lissa. It doesn’t take long and relief quickly pools in Sparrow’s stomach when she sees her with Vaike. Her pretty dress is caked in mud and one of her hands seems to be constantly wiping the free falling tears from her face, but the other is held firmly in Vaike’s as he aids her through the mess and Sparrow is glad she is being cared for. 

As Sparrow continues to look around, now counting and making sure all her Shepherds are still with them, she notices that many of their eyes are wet, from tears or the rain it’s hard to tell, but they all hold their posture stiff, unwillingly to crumble. She admires their strength. Their drive to move forward despite the pain. She has yet to cry, but this is due to what is most likely a long held defence tactic of absolute and utter avoidance. Her brain instead taking its time in counting the drops on her hands, how many times she slips on the mud, and how many times she hears Sully curse. Counting everything she could to keep herself from falling to any other form of potentially upsetting thought. 

They soon approach an arching mountain, its shadow looming and promising only difficulty. She can feel the stutter in their party’s footsteps, but Basilio quickly urges them forward, “Hurry! There should be carriages waiting just through the ravine!” 

This quickens the pace of most of them, but she can see Chrom is still holding back and gently pleads with him, careful to still keep her distance. His hands curl into a tight fist with a sound of frustration as he grumbles, “I’m.. I’m coming,” while pushing past her.

Sparrow is surprised when, despite the cold numbing her body, this rejection still causes a sharp stabbing pain within her chest and finds herself almost grateful to the Plegians that start to block their exit for becoming a much needed distraction from this sensation. She can see, despite her squinting, the distance, and the rain, their commander is a man of age and experience, but he surprises her when his voice booms out across the field, carrying a tone she had not yet heard from any Plegian. 

Sorrow. 

For he offers them  _ mercy _ . He offers them a chance at  _ life _ . 

Her insatiable curiosity is piqued by the change in their enemy, though she know they dare not take his offer. Even if he wishes to offer only his aid, Sparrow knows there is little that can be done against his King. She feels the troops start to rally together, and Basilio lets out a snort before swiftly rejecting the commanders offer. This does not deter him, and still Sparrow hears nothing but the utmost sincerity in his following words, “Emmeryn would not have wished for this to come to bloodshed.”

Chrom’s hackles immediately rise with a violent snarl and it’s Basilio who reacts fast enough to stop Chrom from rushing the other man. The commander seems unperturbed, and Sparrow watches in amazement as his posture slowly collapses into a one of regret. He tries once more and remains true in his offer of protection and part of Sparrow wishes they could take it. She can also see this offer resonating in the soldiers and she knows they too wish for no more bloodshed, (for Emmeryn’s kindness truly knew no bounds) but she also knows their safest course of action is battle.  

Frederick knows this as well, though his tone puts the blame onto the commander, and the not the king which leaves Sparrow frowning. Said commander continues to take no offence, and gives them only more understanding as calls out to his men, and to Chrom, promising him the dignity he perhaps felt Emmeryn had been robbed of.

The battlefield feels like a worn down stage at this point, and the players fall to their spots quickly. Sparrow though, is startled when she finds herself back on her original mark, with both Frederick and Chrom turning to her for their battle plan. 

She finds her exhaustion rids her of any veil she could try to wear that would make her seem semi-competent and perfectly poised, and ends up shrugging at the pair of them and mumbling, “Let’s just.. keep to the edge. We only need to kill the ones who actually get in our way. As soon as we kill the commander the rest.. the rest should let us go.”

They seem hesitant, which Sparrow understands, her planning had proven itself to be quite unreliable, but they follow her order regardless, slowing pushing their way around a large chunk of the soldiers and aiming straight for their leader. They meet some opposition of course, but she can see the turmoil that is boiling within them and feels a cold knocking in her chest whenever they are forced to take a life. 

Sparrow finds themselves upon the commander almost too quickly, and she also finds herself to be proven correct in her analysis. The commander gives them only praise and a single request when they kill him, and she is the one to make sure they honour it, guiding the troops forward and away from the faltering Plegian soldiers. They’re hardly ten feet away when a voice is calling to them.

“Khan Basilio!” A young maiden cries as she rushes their group and Sparrow finds herself blinking quite owlishly at the maiden’s choice of outfit. Sparrow later learns it’s a dancer’s outfit, which explains why it offers very little in the way of protection, but she’s still shocked at the fact the girl doesn’t even have a  _ cloak _ . She’s distracted by the stranger’s fashion choices when Basilio explain who she is.

The girl is introduced as both Olivia and their saviour. She brings with her several inconspicuous wagons that the Shepherd’s hardly have any time to inspect before they’re being nearly tossed into the back; hiding like nothing more than some vagabond stowaways.

The rain is far more persistent than their enemies and shows no signs of stopping as the wagons lurch and drag through the muddy trails. Sparrow hasn’t a clue where they’re going and for once finds herself unbothered by being completely in the dark, much happier to focus on the small breaths and snippets of conversations sounding in the bed of her wagon. She’s forced herself in a tight corner near the far right, boxes of good pressing to a painful degree into her shoulders and legs, and from this point she can see Flavia and Chrom hunched low near the back with several more Shepherds pressing together as well. 

(She finds by listening in to a conversation between Flavia and Chrom that Ylisse’s troops were mostly safe, having retreated with the Feroxi troops, and the hand she hadn’t realized was clenching her heart manages to loosen its grip the slightest bit.) 

When she becomes bored of counting the times the boxes shift into her, she moves onto counting the seconds that make up the minutes, and when she becomes bored of  _ that _ , she starts tightly pinching various parts of her body and counting how long it takes the pain to become intolerable. (Her record is nearly seven minutes, tightly pinching the skin just below her wrist, and when she finally does pull away, she notices the beginning stages of a bruise forming.) She catches Flavia and Chrom watching her at one point and hastily tucks her hands away into her sleeves, her eyes dropping to avoid trying to parse out what their gazes meant.

When the horses finally come to an abrupt halt, Sparrow has to quickly stop two boxes from slamming into her and fails in preventing a third from falling onto her ankle. She forces herself to bite back any whimper, but allows herself a small whine when she rubs at it after hearing Basilio voice call out and tell them they were safe to come out. Sparrow follows last out of them all, and only climbs out after Chrom is guided away by Flavia to “check out” their temporary home. 

Their safe haven in a looming fortress, a “spare” palace the Khans scarcely use that rests hardly a kilometre from the Plegian border. As Sparrow looks up, she takes in the dark and crudely cut rock that give the palace shape, as well as the green ivy that is quickly making its claim across the ill cared for building. It’s not the most inviting, but Sparrow discovers, as the Shepherds begin to grab the boxes from the wagons, Khan Basilio has planned for this, bringing all the supplies they would need to turn it into a suitable “camp”. 

“Be careful of the mice!” She hears Basilio shout, his laughter finding its way back into his voice, as several of the Shepherds make their way inside. Sparrow can only briefly wonder at the warning before a loud and piercing scream is sounding from within the palace and Cordelia is storming outside, her lance clutched tightly in her hand.

“Those are not mice! They are rats! And they are nearly the size of  _ dogs _ !” She shouts at the now howling man and Sparrow feels her own lips quirk into a small smile when the Shepherds who have yet to go in hesitate on the front steps. They proceed with only a small argument which is quickly ended when Cordelia turns away in shock and disgust at the jape Basilio makes about catching and cooking the “mice”.

Basilio gives a hearty chuckle at Cordelia’s attitude, and marches up to catch the other Shepherds now pausing at the front door. He hauls two of them in by the shoulders, an affronted Miriel and a rather grossed out looking Gaius, his voice proud when he claims they have nothing to fear from some measly rodents. Sparrow actually lets out a weak laugh at this, watching the Shepherd’s move through the bleak grey of the rain and enter the dark grey of the palace. She feels her body almost refuse to follow them, distracting itself by watching the bright smears of hair that move through her vision instead. The colours seem so out of place when their backdrop is so muted. She’s sure her own pink hair acts as a beacon in such weather, and perhaps this is what draws Sumia back out into the rain to gently tug her into the shelter. 

They quickly make their way into the makeshift throne room, where Sparrow can see all the Shepherds awkwardly milling about. Sully is the only one still working, cursing and spitting at what seems to be an ancient fireplace mostly likely soaked and unresponsive due to years of neglect, while Stahl hesitates at her side, unsure of how to proceed.

Chrom is the only one seated, in what’s almost a makeshift throne overlooking the rest of the Shepherds, with the ever stalwart Frederick behind him, and both Khans standing not far off. Flavia has taken to nervous fidgeting, hidden by a firm stance, tapping a fast tune on her crossed arms, while Basilio holds himself quiet for once, his mood having sobered from his earlier outburst. 

Basilio waits for Sparrow to approach them, and Sparrow feels the cold when Sumia’s warm presence leaves her side to join Cordelia and the other Shepherds behind her. As she stops, she feels as though she in on trial, and the uninvited thought of walking the gallows flashes in her mind.

“So…” Basilio starts, shaking her from this daydream. “Emmeryn is gone.”

There’s a collective inhale that unites their group and Sparrow forces herself to hold hers until the tears vying to be released are quelled. They seem to be waiting for a reply, Sparrow notices, though she hasn’t the foggiest clue why they’re waiting on her, so she takes another breath and gives a quiet, “Yes.” 

They had all seen the body fall, but it’s almost as if they were hoping she had an alternate answer to this question. As if they had been hoping she was going to break into laughter and shout, “Just kidding! She’s alive! I saved her with some ingenious plan I never thought to tell any of you! Isn’t that great?!”

There’s a petty part of her that wants to turn and scowl at the whimpers and sobs and sighs of disappointment that flow out from the group surrounding her after she speaks. There’s also a terrified part of her that wants to flee into the rain and fling herself into another field in hopes that it be no more than a simple peasant that finds her this time and a sobbing part that wants to fold in on herself completely in a fit of agonized tears. 

She yields to none of these parts, finding she only has the energy to give a dejected huff of laughter and mumble, “All of that… For nothing…” 

She had spent numerous hours planning and planning and planning and yet they were still nothing but rain soaked hideaways. Lissa’s sobs start once more in earnest as she whimpers over her sister’s name and Maribelle goes quickly to her side. Even Frederick’s image crumbles, deep shame and regret staining his words, “I should have died before allowing the exalt to be captured. I have failed as a knight…” 

Sparrow turns her gaze up and goes to attempt to give some semblance of comfort, he seems so desperate to take the blame when Sparrow knows it is her’s to carry alone, but the words die in her throat when she catches the misery etched into Chrom’s face and body. So much pain is carried by his shoulders and Sparrow finds herself slowly moving towards him, the Khan’s voices slipping past her unnoticed. 

“Chrom, I’m…” She starts - his name coming naturally to her lips despite her desire to stick to a more formal script - before sinking to her knees before him, her head bowed low. “I’m so sorry. My plan just wasn’t enough.”

There’s a startled gasp that echoes in the stone room, but Sparrow doesn’t bother to look up and address it. She knows she needs to lay claim to her mistake and wishes she could offer more in her apology. She had caused Chrom to lose his sister, and caused them all to bear this consequence. 

Chrom makes a pained sound at this and she can hear him shift in his seat, leaning forward as if to reach out to her, but she is almost a hair too far so he urges her to stand with his words.

“You did your best, Sparrow.” He says softly and she allows herself to meet his eyes. His anger with her from before seems to have dissipated, leaving only the hurt that spurred it on behind. However, he still manages a small smile as he offers her his thanks. Sparrow can only nod awkwardly in return, once more in awe of his kindness. His smile soon breaks though, as the weight of the day presses heavy on his shoulders once more.

“It's my own failures that haunt me now.” He sighs before pushing back in his chair, one hand rising to press at his temples. “Gods, I was just so powerless!”

“It's not your fault either, Chrom.” Sparrow tells him gently, squinting a bit at the hopelessness she could hear in his voice, but her words are rejected by a shake of his head.

“...She did it for me, Sparrow.” He says eventually, his face still hidden, his voice almost on the verge of tears. “So that I wouldn't have to live with the guilt of either choice, she chose for me. She sacrificed herself rather than give up what could one day save her people…”

Sparrow continues to squint as she takes this in, noticing just how far down Chrom has fallen into his mourning. She also quickly looks around to examine the room and notices this feeling of desolation growing within every Shepherd. Their faces etched with the same hopelessness that had found its home in Chrom. 

_ It is as if they have all given up.  _ Sparrow realizes with a sharp jolt before turning back to face their dejected general.  _ They’ve all given up. _

Well, that simply would not do. 

Sparrow’s fist curl briefly in her lap, forgotten voices cycling in to remind her that  _ tacticians _ did not fall when faced with loss. They dusted off another idea and pressed their team forward into their next victory. To allow herself to succumb to her own emotions while on the job is simply bad taste.

“Chrom…” Sparrow calls finally, her voice finally steadying. “Listen to me. Look at me.”

She’s forced to demand the second part and it takes entirely too long for Chrom to remove the hand obstructing him from her. When he finally does though, Sparrow feels a thousand words well up inside her and, for once, she decides to let them speak first, and let the logical side of her rest. For once, she would let her heart speak freely. 

“I was powerless once, too, remember? And yes, alone, I don't think either one of us is half the person your sister was. But together...maybe we can be something more. If you fall, I'll be there to pull you back up. When you fight for your sister's ideals, I'll be by your side. You don't have to become your sister, you know. You can still be true to yourself. You just have to give people hope in whatever way you can.”

There’s a confession that lies within her words, but she knows he will not hear it. There’s an ache that begins to grow in her knees, but she does not heed it. There is also hope in her offer, but he seems hesitant to take it.

“And what if I can’t?” Chrom asks, his insecurity bringing shyness and doubt. “What if I'm not worthy of her ideals? Sparrow, what if I drag you down with me?”

Sparrow can’t help but smile at his concern, for she would follow him to hell if he asked, and shakes her head gently when she assures him, sharing with him the faith he had once given her so freely. “If you aren't worthy, you'll keep at it until you are.” 

“And,” she says, wearing a more mischievous grin now. “If we both fall down, well, that's what friends are for, isn't it?”

Chrom eyes her doubtfully, still hesitant to accept such words, but thankfully Nowi cuts in with her own support, which is quickly followed by several more of the Shepherd’s voices ringing loud and true with their love for him. Finally, he seems to let this in, his face now filled with relief and gratitude. 

“...Thank you, everyone. Your words mean more than you could know. My Shepherds... My warriors... There is work to be done. Gangrel must be stopped so that peace can once again reign in Ylisse. Will you help me?”

He stands at his request, voice hedging on hesitant. Sparrow almost laughs when it’s once more Lissa who shouts her agreement first, nearly cutting her brother off with all her enthusiasm. Sparrow faintly recalls her first mission with the Shepherds, and how even then Chrom asked if they would follow him as if they would ever give any other answer besides “Yes”. Her knees give a loud whine, demonstrating their irritation with her with another sharp jolt of pain, but when she finally goes to push herself to stand, she finds a rain soaked cloak is much heavier than a dry one, and buckles a bit under its weight. She pushes herself to try again - she had just given a rather rousing speech this isn’t exactly aiding her image - when two warm hands gently help her up. 

“You have grown strong, milord.” Frederick says to Chrom, though his attention stays on Sparrow, and she watches him in unrestrained awe. She hadn’t realized Frederick had come to accept her this completely, and continues to stare at him even after she’s standing again and he’s has moved back to his usual stance, eyes locked on Chrom. “I may have set a poor example as a knight... But I swear to you, I shall die before any more exalted blood is spilled!”

Their words finally ignite the fire that had been reduced to mere cinders in Chrom’s heart and, when she finally remembers to look away from Frederick, she feels her own pride swell within her as she watches the Shepherds return to their rightful postures. Even Flavia and Basilio regain the fire in their bellies and they’re all soon discussing their next move, Basilio giving them his every confidence. 

They decide against returning to the battlefield that night, if only because Sparrow lets out a rather loud sneeze at the exact moment Chrom makes the offer, opting to instead find some semblance of warmth in the damp castle and give themselves the rest and food they sorely need. They would not give Gangrel any more time than that, however, to fill his head with any barbarous notion he has won and make the plan to head straight for him at morning light.

The majority of the Shepherds decide to stay as a group and set up their beds in the throne room, which is large enough to not only host them, but also then some. Sparrow, as well as the Khans, the Ylissean royalty, Panne, and Maribelle decide to find their own rooms, though Sparrow is sure Maribelle is most likely to spend the night with Lissa. As Sparrow leaves the throne room, she hears Sully let out a loud whoop, having finally managed to get one of the fireplaces burning. Stahl also gives a shout, though it’s more reminiscent of a yelp, as part of his uniform gets caught in the sudden blaze. 

She chooses a room closest to an exit, as she always does, and quickly tries to make it as warm and dry as possible. While the rain hasn’t seeped in from the outside, a nagging dampness still sits on her skin and she almost sets  _ her _ cloak on fire when she decides to use magic to start up the fire in her own fireplace. She hangs up her cloak on what she assumes to be a coat rack - she can’t imagine any other use for the gnarled pieces growing from an otherwise vertical chunk of wood - but decides to simply pray her clothes beneath it would dry through dinner, which turns out to be a hearty portion of “I’m not entirely sure this is edible, Basilio”. 

After dinner is… mostly eaten, and the newest recruits, Libra and Tharja, are introduced, Sparrow manages to shiver her way into an extra cloak from Frederick as well as a warm blanket from Flavia. Stahl surreptitiously inches closer to her as they fall into quiet and idle evening chatter, and Sparrow gives him a quick grin and allows him to borrow at least some of her blanket, though she selfishly huddles into her cloak and glares at anyone who tries to take it away.

Eventually the emotional and physical exhaustion of the day takes its toll on the Shepherds, and Sparrow watches as they all slowly retire to their rooms or beds. When she is one of the last few to still be awake, she bids them all a quiet goodnight, leaving Stahl with the extra blanket, and slips away into the hall to find her room. 

She hears gentle chatter coming from Basilio’s room, no doubt the Khans going over their own plans for their troops, and gives a light smile at their dedication, but this quickly turns into a frown as she continues down the corridor and finds not Maribelle or Chrom, but Frederick, kneeling in Lissa’s room, making desperate and awkward attempts to soothe a once more sobbing Lissa, despite her blubbering protests of, “I’m not crying anymore!”

Sparrow assumes this proclamation stems from Lissa trying to live up to her earlier declaration of refusing to shed any more tears and to focus all her energy on punching things, but Sparrow finds this to be a cruel expectation. Considering the day, crying is a perfectly reasonable response, and one that will probably continue to follow her for some time. All Lissa needs to really worry about is making sure it doesn’t impede her in battle. Sparrow makes a move to enter the room and assure Lissa of this, but she’s interrupted by Maribelle making her rather sudden appearance and grabbing Sparrow’s elbow to lead her away from the door.

Before Sparrow can form any sort of question, Maribelle is pushing her farther down the hallway, which encourages nothing but vaguely offended sputtering. 

“We can handle Lissa.” Maribelle tells her, as crisp and precise as the curve of a blade, “Go deal with Chrom.” 

Sparrow is still reduced to sputtering, (since when is Chrom her sole responsibility?) but does not carry the bravery to go against any order issued by Maribelle, and gives a short and awkward bow of recognition before moving on by herself while Maribelle returns to fret over her princess. 

She finds Chrom alone in a room three doors down where he’s pacing in front of a dimming fire. She enters after a single knock, vaguely more confident in her interactions with him again, and calls his name gently, closing the door behind her with a click that echoes briefly in the stonewalled room. He doesn’t acknowledge her or the door, and while he does cease in his pacing, his back remains stubbornly to her. 

“Chrom?” She calls again, genuine confusion lacing her tone. She takes a tentative step towards him, looking to map out the boundaries he seems to be enforcing on the two of them. She watches a small shudder climb up his back before he spins on her suddenly, an almost pathetically cheery smile on his face. 

“Good evening, Sparrow! How can I help you?” He asks and Sparrow does little to hide the look of incredulity and judgment that rises to her face. His poorly made mask falters, but he gives a rather impressive attempt at keeping it up. “What’s with the look, Sparrow? I’m perfectly fine.”

If the overly cheerly facade didn’t alert her to the issue, the perfectly punctuated and almost too cleanly spoken dialogue would have. She remains quiet as she watches him, and it doesn’t take her long to parse out his motivation, and she allows herself to step in closer before she speaks. 

“You’re still allowed to be sad, Chrom.” She says slowly, unsure if he is going to believe her. While she is proud she could revive him into being the man his soldiers need at this time, she also knows that recovering from a loved one's death takes much more than a few hours. His expression, however, immediately becomes one of guilt, and not understanding, and he turns from her again, much like a scolded child. She cocks her head a bit at this, moving on to the primary reason behind her visit. 

“Why aren’t you with Lissa?” Sparrow finally asks. She knows Chrom’s family is his world, so she finds it odd he would separate himself from her after experiencing such a tragedy. Chrom keeps his back to her, his shoulders tense, and they share a silence that Sparrow refuses to break, forcing Chrom to give her an answer.

“I don’t think I can be strong for her right now.” Chrom admits eventually, his voice muted by shame, falling to his bed and pressing his palms firmly into his eyes. Sparrow finds herself wondering how often Chrom had forced himself to be a pillar instead of just a man when it came to his sisters. She is still new to such sorrow, her memories of any experience like this having been wiped clean from her mind, but there are things her body still remembers and she finds it is almost this default that arises when she approaches the mourning prince. 

“She doesn’t need you to be strong, Chrom.” Sparrow tells him softly, one hand falling gently to his shoulder when he gifts her briefly with his gaze. “She just needs you.” 

He makes some sort of argumentative sound, looking away from her once more, and Sparrow shakes her head, refusing to hear it. The Shepherds had already told him they followed him for the man he was as well as the man he strived to be. But, this is not war. This is not a kingdom to be ruled. At this moment, Sparrow knows all he needs to be for Lissa, is her brother. The man who loves her with all his heart.

“No one is asking you to be anything more than yourself right now.” She says, squeezing his shoulder in what she hopes is a comforting gesture. Chrom remains silent, as if waiting for her to retract her statement or perhaps simply unsure he could accept this truth. When it seems he cannot hear any falsehood in her voice, he tips his head back and into his hands.

“I don’t know what to do.” He confesses, rubbing at his eyes, and Sparrow knows he is referring to much more than his sobbing sister. The mask of unwavering strength he had tried to wear is beginning to chip away and she can see the frightened boy who must have spent many a night panicking about this very same thing. Sparrow isn’t surprised his mask falls so easily. Wearing such a mask takes much more practice. 

“You don’t have to do anything, Chrom.” She assures him, her own mask much more refined and more carefully painted on. While her words are true and fatigue is pulling at her, she still maintains a carefully chosen expression of soft comfort and strength, despite the inward panic and turmoil that has been brewing since Emmeryn took her first step towards the edge. He is still her leader, and she his tactician, for him to see her bowing to her own pain in this situation would aid no one. She had realized this earlier. So she pushes a smile onto her face and all her energy into reassuring him. “Tomorrow’s worries will come tomorrow, and when they do, we will face them together. Right now, the only person who needs your attention is Lissa, and she doesn’t need you to be some macho prince, she just needs you to give her a hug.”

There’s a small pause as Chrom allows himself to take this in, his gaze properly meeting hers for the first time this visit, his eyes widening slowly as he does. Then, a flicker of pain flashes across his face and Sparrow soon finds herself caught off guard and suddenly much more awake than before as Chrom throws his arms around her waist and pulls her into a tight embrace. It’s not the most refined embrace she’s sure, as their level difference causes Chrom to bury his face into her torso, but he hardly seems to mind as he breathes in one last ragged breath, and exhales it out with all his lingering walls. Sparrow feels the cloth that lay near his eyes dampen before she hears him properly sob, and it takes her longer than it probably should for her memory to remind her it was commonplace to return such an embrace. 

Slowly, she slides her hands from her side and his shoulder to gently cradle his head. There is a forgotten hum that sounds from her, a lullaby perhaps, and she speaks it softly as she holds him, happy to give whatever weak comfort she could offer. There’s an awkwardness that persists, but Sparrow muses if that is her own fault, as her forgotten teachings tell her this is not proper interactions between their classes. But, as she drops this, and knows that this is what Chrom needs from her, she feels the atmosphere softening, with even the sky’s own tears becoming a faint whisper on the windows. 

Her own tears still do not fall, for she keeps her focus on Chrom, though she feels the telltale sting on multiple occasions. She simply keeps her breathing steady and continues with her song. 

Eventually, Chrom’s posture relaxes and though his breath is muffled by her torso, she can tell it has steadied. Her own voice slowly quiets as she waits for him to speak, though his grip tightens and she can see the muscles in his back and shoulders do the same as he makes a nervous humming sound. 

“Chrom?” Sparrow asks, realizing he is quite unlikely to break the silence first. “Are you feeling better?”

He almost jerks back and away from her, his movements highly uncoordinated as he centres himself and runs a hand through his messy hair, his eyes almost refusing to meet hers.

“Y-Yes… Thank you, Sparrow.” 

She doesn’t comment on his flustered appearance and simply smiles. She knows she’s already fallen in deep enough, dwelling on the encounter would only bring up more complicated emotions, so she tells him she is glad and asks then if he is ready to see his sister. Chrom lets himself take in one more breath, wipe at the tears still clinging weakly to his face, before standing to meet Sparrow with the most honest smile she had seen from this that evening. 

Chrom’s steps become shy as they approach Lissa’s room, but Sparrow catches his elbow and squeezes it, reassuring him enough that he approaches his sister’s door with a quiet knock. There’s only a short pause as Chrom enters the room, his sister’s name falling quietly from his, and this is quickly broken when said sister erupts into a fresh set of tears and launches herself at her brother. 

Sparrow has to smile when Chrom gets knocked enough off balance his arms windmill a bit, but this smile becomes only more fond when Chrom steadies himself and returns his sister’s embrace with a soft apology and reassurances. It’s an almost angelic scene, and the same sense of calm that Emmeryn once evoked in her begins to grow within Sparrow for the brief time she allows herself to watch it. When she glances up and notices a lack of attention on her, she slips away from the room and creeps quietly to her own. 

The palace seems entirely too quiet now and Sparrow fidgets with the fraying ends of her borrowed cloak. She has to restrain herself from singing to fill to void and almost slams her door when she finally makes it to her room. 

The fire she had started several hours before is still burning, though its flames had long since been reduced to simple coals, and she’s relieved when she feels at her own cloak and finds it to be much drier than she had hoped. Sparrow decides to go against her own logic, that weakly tries to argue her plan, even as she removes the borrowed, and  _ dry _ cloak, from her shoulders to throw over her own. It’s still damp in several places, but it’s much better than before and she knows very well that she will need all the comfort she can find this night. 

She tosses a couple logs onto the fire before turning to her bed and burrowing under the blanket lent to her by the Khans. There’s a short moment of tranquility Sparrow resides in, before she’s stumbling over a watery laugh and burying herself even further into her blankets.

Her tears come quickly and the sobs they are joined by wrack her lithe body. She suddenly feels entirely too tiny for her cloak, but only responds to this thought by wrapping it around her tighter. She hardly makes a single sound, despite the heavy emotions pouring from her, and belatedly realizes she must have been an expert at silent crying before her memories were wiped, as it comes to her so naturally. 

Sparrow is unsure how long her tears lay claim to her, for they exhaust her as well and it’s as though she’s sleepily crying one minute, and wide awake and facing the morning sun the next. She gets out of bed with sluggish movements and an aggressive rub at her face. While she would admit crying to yesterday’s event is an understandable reaction, she still refuses to allow anyone to see her in such a vulnerable state, and makes sure to wipe away any sign of her sobbing fit before squaring her shoulders and marching out her door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's my birthday so here's a present for all of u 
> 
> two more chapters left!


	10. The Crescendo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> most of Chapter 11

While the morning light is still only barely stretching itself across the dark sky, when Sparrow enters the throne room, she finds the entirety of her troop already in the middle of packing and cooking breakfast. She can sense the mood is quite light, despite yesterday’s event and today’s plays, and knows she doesn’t have it in her to squash it. It’s the day they put an end to Gangrel afterall. 

(“Or die trying!” Stahl jokes when another repeats this phrase later in their march, but Sparrow glares him into silence as she refuses to let any other Shepherd slip away from her. Today they  _ would _ kill the Mad King, and they would  _ not _ die in their efforts. Sparrow’s multitude of plans counter anything from leagues of Risen to Gangrel having three twin brothers as she refuses to be caught off guard again.)

She allows her own mood to lift as she’s pulled down to sit with Miriel, Vaike, Sully and Stahl to wait for food to be announced. They’re in high spirits, chatting and joking about their sleep the night before and what they think about the newest ghost story circling camp. Sparrow only grows overly nervous when Stahl pins her down with a suspicious gaze which causes her to become worried she hadn’t erased every sign she had spent the night crying, but he eventually softens his look and pats at her shoulder in comfort, saying, “Don’t forget to sleep sometimes, Sparrow, those circles don’t look good.”

Sparrow almost finds herself relieved at the remark - despite the vague offence that grows at the comment on her appearance - but shies away from Stahl regardless. Looking up, she notices the others have turned their focus on her as well, concern painting their faces so she makes sure to loosen her shoulders and make a small show of waving her hands and joking, “Don’t worry! After we win today I plan on sleeping for three weeks.” 

She’s not ready for any sort of intense attention yet, she knows this, and she accidentally breathes a sigh of relief when Sumia’s piercing shriek, followed by several crashing sounds, come from the other room, as it steals any semblance of focus anyone in the room had. Her relief is quickly overtaken by her own feelings of concern, and she stands up to try and see what is going on. Chrom is already halfway across the room, calling the pegasus rider’s name in a subdued panic, when Sumia emerges from the door that, Sparrow assumes, lead to the kitchen. 

“I’m okay!” She explains hastily, and even at a distance Sparrow can see her flushed and embarrassed expression. “Kellam just surprised me!” 

A breath of relief sighs out of everyone this time and the room is quickly refilled with light chides and idle chatter about the whole event. Sparrow can’t help the small snicker at Sumia’s phrasing because she’s sure Kellam had no intention of surprising her and had probably been patiently waiting for her to notice him to offer his help in whatever she was doing.

“Kellam’s here?” Vaike asks, unhidden shock in his voice. “Since when?” 

“I’ve just started assuming Kellam is always around. It makes for less jumping and screaming.” Sparrow admits with a playful grin as she sits back down. Since the debacle at Regna Ferox when Emmeryn had first been captured, Sparrow has tried to keep a better eye on him. He’s a kind man with an unusual talent so Sparrow can’t help but be fascinated by him, though, despite all her effort, she still struggles to  _ see _ him a large majority of the time. 

Breakfast, when left in the hands of people who are  _ not  _ Basilio, is much more enjoyable than the previous night’s dinner. At least, so says the group surrounding her. Sparrow only eats the food with more vigour as there is less anxiety arguing against the idea of anything else residing in her stomach. She still gives Sumia an encouraging smile when she approaches their table and frets over the meal, despite the repeated assurances at it’s quality.

Chrom also approaches their table, though his motivation is quite different, as he catches sight of the new scrapes on Sumia’s hands and takes them in his own to gently chastise her. Sumia, of course, is a blushing mess who can only stammer due to their proximity, which Sparrow completely understands, but Sumia still manages to get out a breathy, “I understand, sir!” at one point when Chrom instructs her to take care of herself. 

An ugly feeling swells in Sparrow’s stomach as she watches the pair. It’s a feeling she despises and one she blames completely on her own weakness, but it’s also one she knows she will have to become accustomed too if she wishes to stay by Chrom’s side. She’s at least briefly freed by it when Kellam materializes at their table, speaking another apology to Sumia. Sparrow is the only one to calmly greet him and she takes great pride in it. She’s soon laughing, with only a touch of force, at the indignant jumble of words that spews from an even more indignant Miriel. Vaike’s dramatic reaction to Kellam’s appearance had caused him to throw his hand back, which resulted in his hand having an unfortunate meeting with his axe. This then cause a spattering of blood to land on the poor mage next to him, who was, of course,  _ less _ than pleased. 

Miriel is still spouting a variety of insults, which only grow in their fury when Vaike squawks out an apology and attempts to clean the mage with a dirty cloth. Kellam is then full of even more apologies though Sparrow assures him it is through no fault of his own, sneaking in her own quick jab at Vaike, before they finally settle back down to eat, Miriel pushing several feet between her and the axe wielder.

Chrom does not join them, though Sumia does when Sully yanks her down to eat after hearing Sumia’s confession that she had yet to do so, and he seems almost upset by this, hesitating at their table even after Frederick calls for him.

Sparrow eventually waves him off - despite her traitorous body urging her to pull him down to sit with her - with an impatient huff, telling him that Frederick is looking worried so it must be something important. He leaves with a small frown and Sparrow suddenly finds herself feeling guilty though she’s doesn’t know  _ why _ . Thankfully Sumia distracts her with a blinding smile, in response to something Sully had said, and Sparrow decides to ignore any and all dumb romantic feelings she holds for Chrom to instead focus on the angelic Sumia, who Sparrow has to reassure several times is very dependable Shepherd and that Sparrow isn’t making a mistake sending her out into the field. 

Dawn finally gives way to a bright and clear morning when they finish with packing and begin to head out for what everyone hopes to be their final battle. Sparrow is one of the last to leave, waiting behind to ensure everyone is accounted for. Almost as fast as they had filled the palace with their voices, it becomes as silent as though they had never been there. Sparrow gently runs her hand across a small section of the wall, as if thanking it, before Vaike’s voice is shaking her from any thoughts, he and Chrom both waiting for her at the door. 

Vaike wears a wide grin and gives some loud boast as she approaches them and Sparrow makes sure not to hide her eye roll before she responds, “Okay,  _ Teach _ , I’m coming.” 

Vaike just laughs, loud and just the slightest bit grating, though Sparrow had become accustomed to it, clapping her on the back when she comes within reach.

“Just leave it all to Teach!” He says, flexing one of his arms. “The Plegians will never think of messing with us again after I’m through with them!” 

Sparrow just shakes her head as Vaike continues on towards the wagon, his boasts continuing despite several friendly insults that get thrown at him from the Shepherds. She’s about to follow him, when Chrom suddenly demands her attention. 

“Sparrow?” Chrom asks, catching her wrist just before she goes to leave. She turns to him rather abruptly, frankly quite baffled at the sudden attention, but makes sure to keep some distance. Their embrace the night before apparently doing nothing but heighten her desire to hold him even more. “Before we go I just… I wanted to thank you.”

Chrom suddenly wears a shy expression and ducks his head briefly, though he doesn’t release her wrist. Sparrow simply cocks her head, and carefully considers her next words.

“Thank me for what?” She asks eventually. She supposes there are several things he could be referring to, but she’s at a small loss on the specificity of his gratitude. He then seems as startled as she, but this quickly relaxes into her favourite laugh, his grip tightening. 

“For… all your help yesterday. I couldn’t have done it without you.” He replies, and though his smile is kind, Sparrow feels her lungs restrict and has to quickly avert her own gaze to hide any pain that makes it to her face. She would hardly call what she had done  _ helping _ . For her, it was simply trying to put tiny bandages across a gaping wound she had caused. But Chrom’s kindness is as overwhelming as ever, so she forces herself to give him a weak smile and shakes her head, awkwardly swaying back on her feet as though she could gain some distance between them. 

“You don’t need to thank me, Chrom. It’s what friends are for.” She tells him, picking pretty words to soothe his bleeding heart. His smile only grows and Sparrow can feel just how warm his hand is as it moves a touch farther up her arm as Chrom himself almost seems to subconsciously step closer. 

“I’m glad we found you, Sparrow. I can’t imagine fighting this war without you.” His words are so genuine they almost hurt, and Sparrow knows there’s little she can do to fight off the blush creeping up her neck. 

“I’m just one person…” She manages to stammer, not entirely sure where she is going to go with the statement, and she’s thankfully saved by Basilio shouting for the two of them to hurry up, though his words are a bit more colourful. Chrom laughs at the interruption - and Sparrow still hates the songbirds that sing in her when she hears it - before calling back that they were coming and finally releasing her wrist with a breezy, “Let’s go, Sparrow.” 

She follows him but makes sure to hop into a different wagon than him to maintain the wellbeing of her  _ own _ heart. The wagon she chooses holds both Panne and Olivia, and Sparrow is soon forced to awkwardly stare out the back of the wagon as she quickly learns neither are particularly gifted at the art of conversation. (Panne gives her a piercing look when Sparrow shifts towards her and Olivia full on shrieks when Sparrow simply glances  _ past _ her so she’s soon left to her own devices as the trudge along the still muddy path.) 

As soon as they reach the Plegian border, they climb out and return to marching. Sparrow finds herself almost excited at activity, her legs having grown restless from being cramped for so long. She manages to keep at least one of her “wagon buddies”, though Olivia slips out of her sight, and when her curiosity takes ahold of her, she hesitantly reaches out to ask Panne about the Taguels. Surprisingly, Panne’s quite willing, and shares a good deal of information. Sparrow makes a firm note to keep away from Chrom when near Panne as Sparrow doesn’t need Panne potentially mentioning how her heart starts racing when in Chrom’s vicinity. Her excitement lifts any worry though, her inner curiosity being fed as they continue on their way. It’s almost too soon that Basilio calls for them all to halt. 

“This is where we go our separate ways, boy! Be sure to get that king right and good!” Basilio laughs as Khan Flavia makes her way to his side. The Feroxi troops aren’t far from here, and they would be the ones to march into battle first, spreading out with Ylisse’s own troops to keep Gangrel’s soldiers busy, ensuring the Shepherds gain a solid chance at meeting Gangrel head on.

A small seed of anxiety grows as she approaches the Khans to review their plan and make sure they would be okay moving on alone. Flavia gives her a smile so sweet that Sparrow is once more left quite flushed, and thanks her for her worry, promising her they would meet at the end of the battle as victors. They sound so much like parting lovers that Sparrow can only awkwardly parrot back most of the speech, her mind having also stuttered. 

The Shepherds almost look like children, waving the departing Khans off, and few can hold back the laughter when Nowi shouts, “Make sure you come back!! You have to come and play with me again!!” just as the Khans slip from view. 

It brightens the mood, and the fidgeting that grows as they are forced to wait out the mutually decided allotted time comes later than it would have without it. The sun is almost at its peak when Chrom finally turns to the Shepherds crowding both his sides and gives them the go ahead. Their march to Gangrel is once more strangely unimpeded, and Sparrow finds herself mumbling about the almost frightening strength of the Feroxi troops as they press on. It’s only when they take a brief pause, a scout approaching them, that Frederick gains the answer to their success. 

“Milord, I’ve a report from Khan Flavia.” Frederick says, approaching Chrom in his usual stance. Sparrow can hear the slightest hint of delight in his voice, though, and edge closer to the pair of them. "The Plegian army is in disarray.”

His delivery is almost flat, considering the joy his words bring to the rest of them, quiet discussions sparking and being shushed as the Shepherds edge closer to hear the rest. Sparrow finds her own eyes simply widening in subdued shock as Chrom turns to fully face his knight.

“How do you mean?” He asks slowly. There’s unrestrained hope budding in his question and Frederick actually lets out a small smile.

“It seems many of their soldiers are opposed to further violence.” Frederick explains, and the hope budding in Chrom soon starts to flower in the lot of them. “There has been infighting, desertion... Gangrel is trying to stamp out the mutiny by force, but with little success. Outside of a few faithful who serve him directly, his army has all but collapsed.”

“This is incredible news.” Chrom laughs, relief and hope tangling together within the sound. Sparrow watches as this information is processed in him and sees there’s a small error that seems to bring this laughter to a slow halt as he asks, “But why…?”

A brief pause overtakes them but soon the information is being pieced together and Chrom turns back to Frederick with a look a starstruck wonder. 

“… Emmeryn.” Chrom says, and it’s almost a question. Sparrow can hear the soft inhale that unites the troops grouping around them and briefly bows her head in respect. Even with her body gone from them, her spirit still holds them strongly together, still bringing them the aid they need. 

“Yes, milord. Emmeryn.” Frederick confirms and the aura surrounding him seems to become gentle in a way Sparrow had never seen before. “The report says Gangrel's men chant her name as they abandon the field. Her words, and her sacrifice, have made her a folk hero of sorts.”

“Emmeryn…” Chrom whispers, the wonder still not leaving his voice. He shakes his head weakly as he lets this in with another short laugh. “Why did it take me so long to understand? She believed all people desire peace. She knew, deep down, the Plegians wanted it, too. It just took her to bring it to the surface.”

Sparrow hasn’t the desire to hide the smile that grows on her face. The kindness of the royal family is, after all, one of the most beautiful things she has known in her short (memory-wise) life. Sparrow turns with the rest to the battlefield sprawling before them and closes her eyes to revel in the feeling of strength and solidarity flowing between them all. Emmeryn’s gift hadn’t just been for them, but for the continent. Not just for her own people, but for  _ everyone _ . Within her lied a love so strong that Sparrow feels no one could ever live up to it.  

“I hope she can see this, wherever she is…” Chrom says softly, as if speaking to his sister alone, and Sparrow slowly opens her eyes as the energy surrounding them grows. “Today we put an end to Mad King Gangrel and bring peace back to the land.”

They press on and their march remains unhindered until Gangrel himself stands before them, leering at them from across a grassy field. Sparrow wonders if he had grown weary of waiting for them, or perhaps his own scouts had informed him of their arrival, but finds she hardly cares, as long as it is Gangrel who stood before them. She quickly surveys what will become their battlefield, noting that mages seem to dominate his team, and also squints in confusion when she notices Aversa is no longer shadowing the king. 

Gangrel greets them as they take the field. His words spew from his mouth with an icy condescension and the disgust he feels towards them is tangible. Sparrow feels herself instinctively move closer to Chrom’s side, as it took little provocation from the Mad King to rile him up, but she finds herself pleasantly surprised when she looks at him and sees only the calm of a distinguished ruler. 

“No more talk, Gangrel. Today you die, and peace returns to Ylisse and Plegia.” Chrom calls back, his voice stable and determined. Sparrow almost hears the lilt from Emmeryn’s tone when he adds Plegia to his statement and knows that, if Emmeryn were watching them, she would carry nothing but pride at the kindness her brother shows, despite the first part of his sentence promising death. 

Gangrel’s flamboyance almost seems to die, becoming something much darker as he snarls through his next few sentences. Even his high toned laugh is brought down in pitch and Sparrow feels her body automatically fall into a primarily defensive position, preparing for the danger his entire essence seems to promise.  

Chrom, on the other hand, holds his ground, finding strength, he explains, in the comrades that joined him at his side. Gangrel howls at this, but his rage grows colder by the minute and it’s freezing every one of his words. While Sparrow agrees Chrom’s words are flowery, Gangrel doesn’t seem hear the honesty and  _ love _ that resonates in Chrom’s voice, the very thing that keeps his soldiers loyal. The very things often lost in Gangrel’s own tone and, as Chrom claims, perhaps the very thing that caused his own soldiers to abandon him.

“Such a clever tongue you have, little prince…” Gangrel’s voice goes quiet at first, but it quickly becomes a shout as he throws his hand up and calls his soldiers to battle, “It will look quite fetching hanging on my mantle, next to your sister's corpse!”

Chrom flinches back at this, though his body quickly throws it off to rise back into his fighting stance. Sparrow, quite subconsciously, reaches out and squeezes his arm in reassurance, though her attention is still across the field, taking in their enemy. There’s quite a distance that separates them, so she needs mobility, and more mages than a usual battle, so she needs all the Shepherds with a high resistance to lead them. She swings herself around to read the Shepherds, making her choices as she does, and it’s only when she returns her attention back to Chrom to tell him who will be in the front lines that she realizes she never  _ released _ him and pulls her hand back as if his skin were made of fire. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles hastily, her body locking at the joints to make her feel almost wooden with her embarrassment, before snapping her hands into fists and organizing herself back into the tactician she needed to be. “Here’s who I think we should send out…” 

They arrange themselves quickly, and Sparrow is moments from calling out their first move when Olivia scrambles into their formation, breathless and immediately shy.

“Milord, I have come! ...Am I too late?” She asks slowly, when everyone turns their baffled gaze on her. Her arms are tight to her chest and her words sing of insecurity (“I don't claim my dance as anything special, but Khan Basilio says it renews the spirit!”) but Sparrow knows Basilio would never offer undeserved praise and welcomes her into their group. 

Sparrow feels her anxiety grow as she moves everyone farther into the battlefield, and part of her wants to keep them close and far from the enemy, but Sully shouts at her to let her  _ fight _ and a breath held captive by her fear is finally released, and Sparrow pushes them forward in earnest. 

They’re forced to split, Gangrel’s remaining soldiers covering too vast an area, but Sparrow keeps Chrom on the most unwavering path, allowing him the opportunity to find whatever answer he could in Gangrel’s defeat. Olivia turns out to be a wonderful asset, inspiring the troops to move on even in their fatigue, and Sparrow thanks whatever gods had a part in bringing her to them when this gives her the chance to heal any Shepherd stung too hard.

It’s one of their more lengthy battles, as Sparrow knows they will need to fell every soldier if they held such strong loyalty to their king, and she can feel the fatigue setting in and dragging her body. When one of her tomes breaks, Sparrow decides to chuck it at the rival mage, catching them off guard for long enough she can pull out a new one in time to wear down the burst of lightning thrown at her. Her breath is coming in heavy, and she can see several of the Shepherds also beginning to bow to their weariness, but soon the enemies numbers are wearing down and she can hear Gangrel’s high tone returning as his rage and panic begin to entwine. From the corner of her eye she spots both Chrom and Sumia approaching him, and knows the Mad King’s time is coming to an end.

Sparrow suddenly becomes quite caught up with trying to ignore the pain spreading from her side after taking a fire spell head on to keep paying them any attention. The mage who cast it is overtaken by their newest recruit, Tharja, at an almost frightening speed, but Sparrow still misses Gangrel’s defeat, only being able to catch the tightening of Chrom’s back at the words spoken by the vanquished king, and Sumia’s gentle touch soothing it.

Swinging her head away from this scene, Sparrow half heartedly scolds herself for such a childish reaction before straightening out to see what soldiers are left behind and what Shepherds need aid. She finds the field quite devoid of any standing red and watches in almost detached fascination as Sully takes down the final mage, her brain calmly informing her of their victory, though her body finds itself much too exhausted to give any sort of physical recognition. The Shepherds do not seem to have this same problem, and they quickly erupt into relieved and grateful cheers as they run and embrace each other. 

“We did it.” Chrom says softly, his voice managing to jerk Sparrow into some sort of attention as she turns to face him. Sumia is on his opposite side, and she repeats his words with a breath of joy, before running to join the others. (She trips only when she’s a half step from Cordelia, who quickly dives to help her up, her face filled with what Sparrow hopes are happy tears.) 

When Chrom finally turns to face her, Sparrow can see something begin to dawn on him, but Sparrow finds herself unsure of what this revelation may be, and also finds herself hesitant to hear it, so she interrupts him before he can speak, reminding him they need to meet up with the Khans so they can begin discussions on what happens next.

The Shepherds are quickly collected and Sparrow firmly focuses her gaze forward to ignore any glimpse of the familiar pattern emblazoned on the dead mages cloaks that are now dyed red with blood and sprawled at their feet. It’s not long before one of their own soldiers rushes them, quickly informing them on Plegia’s surrender and Sparrow feels the tug of a smile when Chrom immediately instructs him to cease Ylisse’s own fighting. 

They greet a rather lively pair of Khans - each wearing only a couple scratches - to begin forming their terms in regards to the war’s end. Sparrow finds herself distracted by the clouds crawling across the sky to be much help. Besides, her skills lie  _ in  _ battle, not at the end of it. Her gaze only returns to the earth when Flavia sends the messenger off and turns to their group with a decisive nod, “Then it's finished. Once their messenger delivers our terms, that's it. We put an end to this bloody business, once and for all.”

Frederick nods his thanks while Chrom lets out a small sigh, catching the attention of all those near him.

“We've won... Somehow I don't feel like celebrating.” He admits, and Sparrow cocks her head at how young he seems at this moment. He almost appears to be a schoolboy, or a child, seeking explanations and reassurance. Basilio’s expression becomes firm, but when he approaches Chrom and levels a strong hand on his shoulder, his words are almost oddly kind.

“Victory can be bitter as well as sweet, boy. It's good you learn that now.” Basilio tells him, keeping his gaze. Chrom takes this in slowly, before nodding, Basilio separating himself then with a couple rough pats. 

Flavia breaks in then, reminding them all of the sacrifices that come from war and Chrom is quick to offer compensations, though Sparrow glowers when the Khan breaks out with a grin and, in her words, jokingly requests the Fire Emblem. Sparrow’s distaste of the item had only grown through the past days and she hardly desires any reminder of its place in this war. 

She makes sure to offer the departing Khans a smile, however, as they break apart to each begin repairing their war struck homes. Each had offered their aid, though Sparrow is pleased that the gold would be coming from Plegia as she is unsure of Ylisse’s monetary situation. 

Despite her fatigue, her mind soon begins to slowly roll through the next steps they would have to take to actually go about restoring the continent, from summits to council meetings, to rebuilding their own troops and villages caught up in battles. Part of her wishes they could just return to beating evil wizards with sticks, but she’s broken from this thought process when Chrom calls her name. 

Sparrow is prompt when she turns to face him, perhaps stuck in her practiced behaviour, as it almost seems to take less energy. She notices that both Frederick and Lissa, who had joined them in the earlier discussion, have retired down the hill, greeting the Shepherds waiting at the bottom. There’s an odd note to Chrom’s voice, so she returns her attention to him, finding him rather melancholy. 

“What’s wrong, Chrom?” She asks, catching her hand to tuck it in her sleeve so it wouldn’t unnecessarily touch him  _ again _ . “You look so serious.” 

While she hardly expects him to be leaping from the earth in glee, like Nowi had and still continues to do, she’s still rather puzzled at his expression. There’s regret forming and Sparrow begins to organize an array of comforting sentences for whatever worry plaguing him. She manages to think of three when he manages to explain himself. 

“I…I think I owe you an apology.” He says slowly and Sparrow’s head immediately ceases in any activity. An apology for  _ what.  _ “This wasn’t your war to fight.”

The words take their time in being processed and Sparrow is forced to blink several times before she can come up with a reply. 

“But I chose to fight it.” She responds hesitantly. Chrom had never held any sort of doubt when it came to her fighting  _ before _ so she’s not entirely sure what is bringing on this remorse. While it’s true it had hardly been her war, and if it had been, perhaps she hadn’t been on the right  _ side _ . She had also, on numerous occasions, wished to flee the battlefield and find a nice peasant family to fall into (or just a stream in general), but it was her own choices led her to this spot, and it was her choice to fight. She briefly wonders if Chrom regrets her joining, but the look of weak gratitude that he manages to drum up reminds her that he is a  _ kind _ man, and he probably spoke this for no other reason than guilt. 

“All I've been thinking about is stopping Gangrel, no matter the cost.” He confesses, confirming Sparrow’s theory. She’s hardly surprised by the confession, Gangrel had inflicted many wounds on both his person, his spirit, and his country. “Even my own life would not have been too high a price to pay.” 

Sparrow’s body flares to life at this admission. Holding his gaze firmly she says, “It would have been for us!” Refusing to let him continue with this thought or any other like it. 

Did he think to pass the halidom to  _ Lissa _ ? The young princess who still makes a show of childish pranks? Did he think to leave behind his Shepherds and his flock for little reason more than to try and bring another’s death? Self-sacrifice could be as selfish and it was selfless, and Sparrow huffs out a faint, “And for me.” after a brief pause, as she holds little desire to carry the guilt of  _ two _ royal deaths. 

Sparrow realizes belatedly she was included in “us” and loses herself to her thoughts for a moment, hardly taking in the shocked look that now lays claim to Chrom’s face. She can hear in his breath he’s preparing another speech, and returns her focus to him. But, just as he goes to speak, Vaike’s bellowing voice echoes by them and Sparrow is looking back down the hill in vague confusion and annoyance. 

“Hurry up, you two!” Vaike yells, drawing out his words and shifting the axe tossed haphazardly over his shoulder. “We wanna go home!”

Sparrow can’t help the huff of laughter that comes from being so brazenly interrupted. Distracted by this, and lulled into inattention from fatigue, she goes, “Come on, my love, we have a kingdom to attend to.” 

Her own ears betray her, not catching this mistake, leaving her to be unbothered as she begins the descent down the hill whilst throwing a remark to the waiting group regarding Vaike’s impatience. 

She’s hardly six feet from Chrom when she notices his absence, and turns to him with a confused squint. With the sun at his back, he shines more than usual. Literally and metaphorically. His face is mostly hidden by a glare but there’s a new and odd sort of look he wears, gentle and sweet, that Sparrow can’t begin to parse. He shakes his head when she tilts her own in confusion, gently sighing out, “We have time.” before following her lead and marching on past her. While Sparrow catches the words, she hardly understands their meaning, but when she scrambles to his side, now being the one left behind, he just grins, refusing to clarify anything.

“C’mon, Sparrow. Let’s go home.” 

The new look has left, but there’s a bit of it that still shines in his cheeky grin and Sparrow feels as though she’s accepted a proposal she hadn’t heard. Without the energy to properly delve into it, and lacking the energy to really  _ care _ , she simply nods and they return to the others and begin their long march home.

While Chrom is happily welcomed as Ylisse’s ruler, sorrow echoes through the castle for some time as the people properly mourn their late exalt. Despite being unable to find her body, a grave and memorial is quickly amassed and many arrive with their condolences. Sparrow keeps herself away from the castle for much of this, seeing herself unfit to handle these affairs. Chrom frequently finds himself in her room regardless, sometimes with faux requests for advice, but often to simply sit in the easy silence Sparrow offers as she reads another one of the books found in the library.  

Sparrow rarely offers verbal comfort during these times, very rarely even speaking anything besides a greeting. It’s only when she knows Chrom is required for an event later in the day that she pipes up, asking numerous and pointless questions about whatever topic she finds herself on, easing him from his sorrow, but never forcing him past it.

The library quickly becomes her favourite place, and while she claims it’s simply for the various battle histories, she quickly immerses herself in the history of Ylisse and its customs as well, her anxiety reminding her she is here due to Chrom’s whim, and could easily be forced out. She reminds herself of this rather harshly whenever her eyes demand a rest.

Hesitancy paints most of her actions in the weeks following the mourning period, though it had also painted most of her actions even before this. While there are still battles to fight, the Shepherds all staying on duty to quell any bandit or Risen flare ups, Sparrow still finds her position as a tactician has come off balanced. The Shepherds are learning the habits, and she’s not always needed when they go to fight. She finds herself routinely wondering what place she still has amongst them. 

(The Shepherds do not separate after the war, striving to work together to rebuild their home. Even Olivia and Lon’qu decide against returning to Regna Ferox, both claiming a desire to aid in Ylisse’s restoration. Upon hearing this, Sparrow quickly adopts it, often practicing repeating it in her own head should the time ever come that one of Chrom’s council members question her continued presence. )

Her hesitancy combining with her desire to be helpful eventually grant her peace of mind, as she gains a habit of falling asleep in the library so often Chrom ends up giving her a room within the castle that lay not far from it. (She still ends up falling asleep in the library regardless, but she does appreciate the new desk her new room comes with.) With this, Chrom also begins to seek her out even more for advice on future moves and plans.

It’s Frederick who comes to her the first time, telling her that Chrom had requested her assistance. She gives him an odd look, unsure of the knight’s feelings towards this, but he startles her with a gentle smile and the instructions, “You mustn't keep our lord waiting.” and she knows the role of Aide has joined her previous role of Tactician.

As the months pass, however, whispers begin to arise and Sparrow quickly learns to snap her hands shut to quell a familiar anger as the subjects begin to gossip on who their leader would take as his wife. Despite her best efforts, Sparrow is quickly entrapped in these discussions when the council makes various hints that she too should be looking for a  _ suitable _ marriage candidate for their king. It doesn’t take much more than a single look from them to know that they do not mean  _ her. _

Sparrow smiles regardless, a placating smile painted on with a fine brush, and bows to them, the words, “Of course.” feeling like ash in her mouth. 

“I will do everything I can to find Chrom and this kingdom a suitable queen.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> B)


	11. The Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Proposal
> 
> beta: calls for me  
> me: ya?  
> beta: is the proposal 12 pages long?! just the proposal?!  
> me:  
> me:  
> me: WALKS AWAY.......
> 
> pls enjoy!!!

It’s a few weeks after Sparrow’s meeting with the council and with spring slowly waking up across the continent, Sparrow finds herself in a surprisingly pleasant mood. She smiles genuinely at Chrom when he approaches her, though it becomes a bit of a puzzled frown when she notices he seems as shy and bashful as the page boys she had begun to befriend. They exchange a quick greeting before Chrom pauses awkwardly and hesitantly asks, “Where do you see yourself in the future?”

Sparrow finds herself squinting a bit at the question. Without the faintest clue at its motivation, she can hardly figure out why it’s causing such an uncharacteristic timidness within him, so she’s left a little suspicious. But, Chrom’s behaviour had become rather odd as of late, and Sparrow finds she’s too happy about the budding blossoms to care about navigating it, so she goes back to smiling at him. 

“At your side, I hope.” She says, as it’s the truth. She hardly has anywhere else to call home, as her memories are locked tightly away. She’s also long since accepted her role in his life would remain as nothing more than his tactician and aide, and tacticians were most often found at their general’s side.

Sparrow discovers that this is apparently the correct answer, as Chrom grins, as brilliant and blinding as the sun, before laughing as if all the troubles of the world had fallen from his shoulders. 

“Good! I mean. Great! I mean… I’m, I’m glad we’re on the same page!” He fumbles, still beaming at her. Sparrow can’t help but return his laugh, finding it infectious, before feeling her own expression soften, relief pooling in her stomach. While it seemed illogical, part of her still worries he would one day send her away.  

“So am I.” She replies, before nodding goodbye. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised Sully I would join her for part of her training.”

“Of course! I’ll... I’ll see you later, Sparrow.” He grins, still resembling the pageboys as his face retains some of its earlier pink. She’s not entirely sure what she’s agreed to, cocking her head to the side in a brief moment of contemplation, but decides it’s hardly worth any fuss if Chrom found such joy in her answer and turns to begin making her way to the Garrison. 

She is given her answer the next day.

It’s a cool and quiet evening, lit only by the array of candles that always brighten Chrom’s bedroom. It’s one of Sparrow’s favourite rooms in the castle, noted by the small array of knick-knacks she’s swiped from it that now lie dormant in her pockets. While they often met for meetings in her room, or the war council table, whenever Chrom found himself engrossed in other work, he would call her here.

She enters with a single polite knock, as the door is already open, and finds Chrom seated on his bed, fidgeting and restless. He leaps to his feet when he hears her and Sparrow notices that the bashfulness that coloured their past encounter has yet to leave him, as he’s still slightly flushed when he greets her and invites her in. 

She closes the door behind her and they exchange pleasantries as she approaches him, though Chrom soon heaves a great sighs and sits himself back down on his bed. Sparrow stops several feet away from him and folds her hands politely in front of her, waiting for the reason behind his call. She had fallen into the role of his aide quite naturally, enjoying the structure the position gave her in her interactions with Chrom. 

“The council has been discussing my marriage as of late…” He begins and Sparrow feels a sharp stab in her abdomen. While she knows she should hardly be surprised they had also been discussing Chrom’s marriage with  _ him _ , it’s still not something she’s quite ready to bring up. At least, not emotionally.

She had already plotted out his best marriage candidates, deciding on several options as Chrom still had the ability to surprise her when it came to his emotions. She had managed to make it a little “fun” for herself, though that had been by imagining herself marrying the various options (her favourite had been Sully), but she’s still feeling a bit caught off guard as she wasn’t expecting Chrom to be ready for this conversation. He’s  _ still _ holding off the title of exalt, so it’s hardly surprising she hadn’t thought he would be ready for  _ marriage _ . 

He also had the habit of growing touchy over it whenever the others would bring it up, even growing cross with Lissa due to her pesterings. No matter who questioned him about it though, he always assured them he was simply, “Waiting for the right time.” 

It’s something Sparrow can appreciate, timing is important is all aspects of one’s life, but that doesn’t mean she’s fond of his timing  _ now. _

“As have I!” She still chirps, adamantly ignoring the tremor she feels in her hand. (There is no point mourning the loss of something she had never held after all.) Chrom looks vaguely startled so she moves to ease his confusion. “A royal’s marriage is extremely important. Yours especially at this time. Your people need it, I feel. Something to show stability.” 

Sparrow hears the script in the words and finds she hates how concise they sound. She has still had to distance herself from the topic, the same way she had had to remove Emmeryn from the rescue plan, otherwise her emotions would take over too much control. 

Her feelings for Chrom were unrequited, she has consistently reminded herself, and had no place in her work for him. 

“O-Oh, yes, of course.” She can see something in him relaxes and when he looks back to her, there’s a feeling of comfort and trust that she always wants to balk from. “I’m glad I will have you at my side, helping me with all of this.” 

Sparrow makes sure to give him a smile, as practiced as they come, though she feels a twinge of pain, not exactly looking forward to spending so much time on another woman’s wedding. She gives a quick clap of her hands to throw this thought away and settles herself back into position. 

“I think you should go ask Sumia.” Sparrow starts, her voice still finding a softness. “You two have a very strong relationship, and everyone in and around the castle loves her.” 

(She had also heard several of the council members make the same suggestion, but keeps this information away from the emotionally driven Chrom.)

She pauses here, waiting for the instant agreement she expects from Chrom. Sparrow knows he holds a fondness for the pegasus rider, she had seen in play out in battle numerous times, but the silence that stretches worries her and she looks at him to meets his eyes and finds them to be wide with confusion.

“Sumia?” He parrots back, bafflement leaking into his voice. Sparrow gives a hesitant nod, and carefully considers her next words.

“Yes. It’s a good move, I think.” Sparrow says, trying to placate any worry Chrom may carry to the idea.

“‘A good move’... Are you… Have you been addressing my marriage like my tactician?” Chrom asks, eyes narrowing. Sparrow wants to question why this is a problem, it’s how she addressed all other matters after all, but beneath the surprise she can hear a trace of anger and, not wishing for it to grow any louder, pulls back and softens her tone.

“I’m sorry, Chrom, but your marriage is important.” Sparrow explains, her fingers instinctively moving to worry part of her sleeve. “I had to give it the correct degree of thought…” 

“I don’t want to marry Sumia.” He declares, stiff and upset. Instantly Sparrow knows she has made a mistake, her eyes widening, though she struggles to understand what it is she had missed. Had she misread their interactions that badly? Sparrow knows Sumia’s unwavering love for Chrom is something perhaps only rivaled by  _ Cordelia’s _ unwavering love and she knows that the pair of them are fond of each other. 

Sparrow can only briefly wonder if it had only been friendship she saw brewing between them before she gives a jerking nod of acceptance and quickly moves on, her head shuffling through the other possibilities she had thought of. 

“What about Sully then? You two are close! Practically of a hive mind. And her strength would be an inspiration to everyone in the kingdom.” She can hear her voice rising to a octave higher than she would like and Chrom’s brows furrow but before he can speak Sparrow catches she’s made another mistake and desperately tries again. 

“No? W-Well... Perhaps Maribelle? She and her family are in excellent standings with every other noble family. She would make a wonderful wife to the royal family…” A much more loving one to Lissa than Chrom, but certain things just weren’t allowed to be it seemed. Chrom still doesn’t seem convinced so Sparrow gives one last desperate attempt, “Th-then… maybe Olivia? I’ve noticed you two have become a lot closer lately..!”

There’s a touch of frustration in Chrom’s face when he finally stands to approach her but she can’t allow herself to shrink back from it as much as she would like. (Displaying too much fear was sometimes just as disastrous as displaying too little.) While his expression is stormy, his voice seems almost sad, “I don’t want to marry any of them, Sparrow.” 

She blinks at this confession and finds herself at an absolute loss in regards to who Chrom plans on taking as a wife, and why his reactions to her advice were so negative. She wonders idly if he took offence to her brazenly assuming who he should marry and decides to make at least attempt to patch this “betrayal”. 

She goes to speak, working back quickly to find the best words for this situation, but Chrom is still approaching her, standing too close and she’s losing her focus faster than she would like. 

“Th-Then who, Chrom?” She manages to ask, though she refuses to meet his eyes, her’s now stuck to the floor as if it could either answer her or swallow her up. “Who do you want-”

“You, Sparrow. I want to marry you.” He says gently, and while Sparrow can still make out a touch of impatience, there’s something new in Chrom’s voice that catches her breath and refuses to let it go. The tone he takes and the look he’s giving her when she peeks up rings oddly familiar, and Sparrow half heartedly wonders if it is something she simply refused to recognize before, but before she can give any thought to this, everything in and around her vanishes. 

Sparrow’s sure had it been anyone else proposing, she could have easily evaded it. But this is  _ Chrom _ and this isn’t something she has planned for, nor is it something she’s at all ready to handle, and she finds her emotions breaking apart into pure panic. 

“Me? But Chrom, I’m… I’m not.” Sparrow tries to shake her head. She thinks she manages to give it at least an errant jerk, but it’s as if her body is not her own anymore and nothing is coming easy. The uninvited phrase of  _ I’m going to kill you _ paired with the sight of his dying visage begin to echo within her and suddenly it seems as though even breathing is a tremendously difficult activity to accomplish. “I’m not…”

“Sparrow…” Chrom calls for her gently and she finds her arms have raised themselves into a defensive position, quite similar to Olivia’s usual stance. Chrom catches her elbows to hold her close. She still can’t breathe, she can’t even look up to meet his eyes and explain why this is a terrible idea. He doesn’t seem like he’s about to listen to any explanation anyways as he continues with his own, “You’re all I’ve ever wanted. There’s no one else I want at my side.” 

Their previous conversation flashes in Sparrow’s mind and she feels a bit like she’s been tricked. She would have worded herself better if she knew this was how he was going to take it. ‘No wonder he seemed so happy,’ she thinks belatedly.

She tries to break free from his grasp but his hands are firm and she’s almost tucked into his chest now and all she can feel and smell is him and Sparrow knows that nothing in her now has the strength to pull away. 

“The council won’t like it.” She tries to tell him. (While she’s not fond of their treatment of her, she still respects that they at least had enough common sense to know a marriage between the Prince and the strange amnesiac tactician he found collapsed on the ground would  _ not _ be the best match for the Kingdom.) Chrom actually growls at this, low and forceful. 

“The council does not decide who I love. Nor will I let it decide who I marry. Emm always wanted me to follow my heart, and my heart is leading me to you.” He says fiercely, as if this would stop any backlash their marriage would incite. 

_ Love has nothing to do with a royal wedding _ she wants to tell him, although the voice that spoke it would not be hers. But before she can open her mouth, Chrom’s door is clicking open and Sumia’s bright and cheerful voice rings between them.

“Milord! Please pardon the intrusion but Frederick was looking.. for… you.” She trails off at the end, her eyes having focused on the pair of them. Sparrow feels her breath hitch high and she knows what they look like, embraced like this. She knows she has to remedy it.

“Of course!” Sparrow cries, her voice higher than she’s ever heard it before. Chrom’s shock at being interrupted aids her in breaking free and she almost sweeps away from him, eyes downcast to avoid anything in his expression that could cause her to hesitate. “I’m terribly sorry for delaying you, milord. I shall bid you goodnight.” 

She bows low, something in her having finally locked itself back into default mode, and every word comes out perfect and precise. She continues to avert her gaze and she rushes past both Chrom and Sumia and blatantly ignores the way Chrom calls for her. 

She had never pretended she had or deserved anything akin to Chrom’s love. And, when she collapses in an empty room several doors from his and tucks herself into a secluded corner, she realizes this may have been her downfall. Chrom’s kindness, it seems, knows no bounds.

She spends an indiscernible amount of time regulating her breathing and watching the door for any invaders. And when one arrives, it’s not who she is expecting.

“Sparrow?” Sumia calls gently. Sparrow’s small gasp at being found gives her away and Sumia moves around the room to light what few candles are offered in it. When they can make proper eye contact, Sumia approaches her. 

“What happened?” She asks softly. The candlelight makes her seem almost angelic and Sparrow finds herself struck by just how beautiful she is. 

(Beautiful. Dedicated. Kind. Sparrow still can’t parse why Chrom wouldn’t want to marry her.)

“Chrom, he… I mean, milord… Milord asked…” Sentences, it appeared, were still too difficult to create and Sparrow takes a shaky breath to try again. Sumia doesn’t need a better explanation. 

“He finally proposed to you, didn’t he?” Sumia asks softly and Sparrow’s head snaps up to find a quietly pained smiling waiting to greet her. 

“How did you…?” Sparrow asks. What had Sumia seen that she had missed? 

“Oh, we all knew it was coming.” The other girl says with a short laugh. “You should have seen how much Lissa pestered him about it!”

Sparrow finds herself immediately reexamining the interactions she had seen shared between Lissa and Chrom while Sumia’s gaze softens. A hundred other phrases are held within the tiny sigh she gives, but all she says is, “It was cute. Watching him get so flustered over you. I’m happy he finally asked.”

Sparrow breaks from her memory retrieval to stare blankly at the girl  _ still _ smiling before her.

“How can you be happy about this?” Sparrow asks and while she doesn’t mean to be cruel, when Sumia’s eyes snap open wide she knows that how she is coming across. Her breath is beginning to come in short gasps again but she reminds herself she needs to keep talking, as someone needs to listen to reason. “You’re… You’re the better fit. He shouldn’t.. He can’t.. He should marry you, Sumia. He needs to…”

Sumia raises her hand and Sparrow’s immediate thought is  _ please don’t punch me in the face _ . Sumia hesitates and Sparrow wonders if she actually managed to speak a proper sentence aloud. There’s an overpowering sadness in Sumia’s expression that Sparrow would navigate, if her brain would allow her to do anything except remind herself to breathe, and she feels like a child when Sumia crouches down to meet her at eye level. 

“If… if Chrom married me, I know it would only be because you told him to. But… if he married you, I know it would be because he loved you. And that’s more important to me. Chrom’s happiness.” Sumia explains before her expression grows firm she reaches out to tightly grasp Sparrow’s arm.

“If you love Chrom. As a friend, a lover, or even just as a comrade, you will answer him how he deserves. Promise me that, Sparrow.”

Sparrow’s lips tremble and she refuses to make any such promises, but she agrees to meet with Chrom again. Acknowledging that he does deserve some semblance of an answer.

When she enters his room, he’s pacing at his window, his thumb being worried between his teeth. She calls his name as softly as the door shutting behind her and he’s upon her in a matter of seconds. When she stalls and steps back, he pauses as well, and she can’t stand the pain that flashes across his face.

“Sparrow…” He starts and she raises her hands to quiet him, her mouth moving to a shaky imitation of her flawless, practiced smile.

“I’m sorry, Milord, for walking out like that. I…” She has the perfect conversation planned out. The perfect conversation to end any silly notion Chrom holds that makes him believe she is the best choice for him. Chrom decimates it with a single sentence. 

“Sparrow, I love you.”

She finds she can’t breathe all over again.

Chrom’s no longer shy, she notices, more morose and dejected, and it seems like he can’t stop himself from approaching her.

“I’m sorry if this seems sudden, but I thought… When I asked you…” He heaves another heavy sigh and yanks his hand through his hair. He’s a wreck and Sparrow hates that’s she’s what’s caused this. 

“I’m not what’s best for you.” She tells him, trying to soothe him with a logical explanation. Once again, she immediately knows she’s made a mistake. Chrom’s eyes widen but this time there’s understanding pooling in his gaze as he begins to comprehend why she is pushing him away.

“Sparrow… Is that why…” He starts, his hands once more grabbing at the arms she’s raised to try and keep some distance between them.

“Chrom, please, listen.” Sparrow tries, giving a weak attempt at stepping back, “It doesn’t make sense for us…”

“No. I’ve already heard what Sparrow the tactician has to say.” Chrom cuts her off, shaking his head before catching and holding her gaze, “Now, I want to know what Sparrow’s heart has to say.”

“Sparrow’s heart doesn’t get a say in this.” She replies softly before she can stop herself. (Sparrow blames the warmth and hope she finds in his eyes completely.) It’s true, but her wording is off and not about to aid her in convincing Chrom they shouldn’t marry. He’s starting to break down any weak defence she could have and he can see the cracks in her arguments. 

Chrom’s hands slide up to close around her wrists and lead her even closer. She curls her fingers in to avoid the temptation building within her. She knows if she touched him, she’d want to hold him, and if she held him, she would never let him go. Like this, she can pretend she could refuse him. Like this, she can pretend she wants to say no.  

“Sparrow,” he pleads. They’re nearly chest to chest now. “If you don’t love me, if you don’t wish to marry me, I won’t force your hand. You will always be my closest friend, regardless of anything that happens here. But…” Here his fingers tighten briefly before they slip away from her wrists to cradle her face instead. Her breath catches in her throat as his thumb delicately swipe across her cheek. “If there’s a chance you want to say yes… Please, Sparrow, let me hear what your heart wants. Not what the tactician thinks is best.”

Chrom waits for her to reply, but Sparrow finds she is only able to weakly stammer over a couple vowels, unable to give him the words he desires. There’s an ache lying plain on his face, and she watches it turn to some semblance of understanding as his grip shifts. Sparrow wonders if he believes he had never given proper proof of his love, as it’s the first explanation that pops into her head as she watches him gulp and slowly begin to bring his face closer.

She knows exactly what is coming, despite her amnesia and being positively blindsided by his confession, and she knows she could shatter it in her hands easily. His grip is loose enough she could turn her head and he is kind enough to accept her decision if she chose to remain his friend and ally and not his wife.

But, Sparrow takes in a small breath as she watches him. His eyes are closed and she feels he is trembling nearly as much as she is. She knows she can’t do this, she couldn’t, she shouldn’t and…

He kisses her. Soft, sweet, and gentle. 

Everything falls out from beneath her. She is both soaring and collapsing all at once and for a moment, her heart breaks free. Sparrow gives a shuddering gasp but before Chrom can ask if she’s alright, her hands are reaching out, desperately clinging to whatever bit of him she can find and she’s kissing him back with all she has. 

He’s startled by her response, she’s sure, but this quickly morphs into joy as he rearranges his grip to cradle her tight against him, steadying her as she pushes everything she is into him and their kiss. She cries, though she only notices when their kisses become wet and salty, but she doesn’t let it stop her. (The sobs nor the kisses.) She isn’t sure there’s a force on earth that could stop her in this moment. 

She tries to memorize everything. How Chrom’s mouth moves against hers. How shy he is in the beginning. The small chuckle he gives when she ends up nipping at his lips. How her lips were more chapped than his and how he roughly knocks his chin into her cheek three times while pressing butterfly kisses against her eyes, sweeping away the tears. How warm his hands feel against the small of her back, the curve of her waist, the arch of her neck, and how she doesn’t fit quite perfectly in his arms but how he holds her close regardless. 

Eventually, they end up sprawled across his bed facing each other. She’s rather exhausted with no desire to move, so she stays wrapped in his arms, still dressed in her tactician cloak and only half under his blanket, one hand lazily running through his hair as she drops into sleep.

Or, at least makes the heartfelt attempt.

“Sparrow?” Chrom calls and she manages to make a small humming sound from somewhere in her throat. He calls for her again so she forces her eyes open and meets his gaze. The candles have all either burnt out or were put out, but the moon is full and bright and the curtain hasn’t been drawn, so she can still make out the outlines of his face that is etched with the slightest hint of worry. “You never answered my question.”

Sparrow just blinks back at him before realizing he’s correct and that she should probably remedy that. She shifts, just a touch, just enough that she can see and be seen and brushes her hand fully through his hair. 

“I love you.” She says finally and this time it’s Chrom that gives a small gasp. “I love you more than anything else I have in this life. Nothing would bring me greater pleasure than standing at your side. As a friend, a partner, a comrade, and, if you wish for it, as your wife.” 

The words aren’t as difficult as she thought they would be, but perhaps they had simply been waiting for so long to flower that they brought along an ease. There’s only a second of silence as Chrom’s joy isn’t easily contained. He laughs, loud and unbridled, before nearly crushing her in his arms in what Sparrow’s sure he means to be a hug. His laugh is as infectious as always and she finds herself joining in his glee as she tries to rearrange her arms and body in this new hold. 

He tucks his head into her neck and grumbles a quick: “Why didn’t you say this earlier?” into her hair but she pretends she doesn’t hear him because if she did, she would have to answer. 

While she loves Chrom, she had never expected the feelings to be returned, and she would not delude herself into believing she is the best match for him or his kingdom. But, her making this fact known had not gone over particularly well and she’s ready for at least a few hours rest so she wraps her arms around him, keeping him close for as long as she could, and shuts her eyes.

It seems she has their wedding to plan, after all. 

* * *

 

Sparrow wakes to birds singing outside the window and a bright beam of sunlight harassing her closed eyes. She groans and tries to roll onto her side, to see if she could find some protection from her pillows, but two strong arms keep a firm grip on her and she’s unable to even move an inch. She tries one more time before giving up and whining, prying her eyes open to face the blinding sun so she could properly face the culprit. 

“Chrom.” She groans, her voice raspy with sleep. He doesn’t move, so she tries to wiggle free, her whining persisting as his grip doesn’t loosen, “Chrom, please!”

He refuses to budge and eventually Sparrow fully gives up and accepts her fate, her eyes squinting against the sunshine. She can tell by the sun’s position it’s still quite early in the day, so early that the only people moving were likely to be farmers, servants, and Frederick. 

Speaking of…

Sparrow shifts a bit so she could get a better view of Chrom. She had rolled in the night so she’s now lying flat on her back while Chrom kept his hold and now finds himself sprawled across her body, though his head is still tucked into her neck. Sparrow soon discovers her arms are also pinned a bit beneath him, but she can still weakly pat at his back as she asks, “Hey, hey. Is this okay? Won’t Frederick get mad?”

Sparrow can’t imagine this is proper etiquette, the two of them sharing a bed, even if they are planning on getting married. If she is to become his wife, she is going to become a lady, and this means she needs to start working on her own etiquette, so she could be the wife Chrom and the kingdom both need and deserve.

Chrom, it seems, isn’t on the same page as her, and she can actually feel his face scrunch up in irritation when he grumbles out, low, and a touch frustrated, “Please do not mention Frederick’s name while we are in bed together.” 

Sparrow pauses, taking this in, before asking, “Why?” 

Surely there would be many situations where they had to discuss him, so why would Chrom ban his name just because of their location? This puzzles her, and her question also seems to baffle the man in her arms as he finally moves up to his elbows to look at her incredulously, “Are you asking me why I don’t want you to speak of other men while we’re in bed together?”

Sparrow takes another pause, watching his expression as she thinks on her answer. She, of course, wants to answer ‘yes’ as she is unsure of why it would be a  _ bad  _ thing, but Chrom doesn’t seem to have the patience or the energy for her to answer that way, so she answers with a tentative, “No?” instead. He just huffs at her and flops back down, fitting himself back into her side. 

She keeps relatively quiet after this, softly humming and drumming gentle beats his back as she watches the birds out the window. It had never been easy for her to fall back asleep after waking in the morning, and Chrom doesn’t seem like he’ll be moving anytime soon, so she finds herself quite stuck. She’s at least pleased when the sun rises enough it’s no longer in her eye line, less pleased when this indicates it’s now time for Frederick to come into Chrom’s room to wake him.

“Milord? Are you awake? We have a great deal of… things… to attend to.” Frederick’s voice falters and Sparrow can see him tensing at the same time Chrom does, though she feels Chrom’s tension from her hands on his back. The silence that brews between the three of them isn’t even interrupted by the morning songbirds, so Sparrow takes it on herself.

“Good morning.” She greets him easily while Chrom makes a bit of a show of trying to bury himself farther into her side, and his bed, going so far as the tug part of the blanket over his head.

“Good… morning.” Frederick replies slowly, polite but entirely unsure on how to handle the situation.

“Anything we can help you with, Frederick?” Sparrow chirps a bit on his name, making sure to keep her voice as light and cheery as possible as she remembers Chrom’s earlier request. She grins when she feels the irritation building in Chrom’s back. Perhaps  _ now _ he would get off of her and let her stand to properly begin her day. Weddings did not happen overnight.

“Well, I was hoping to start working on the matter regarding the feud brewing within the noble houses…” Frederick explains, deciding to ignore the oddness of the situation, and straightens his back to return to his more familiar pose. Sparrow nods along to his decision and makes very vocal hums of agreement. 

“I think that is a wonderful plan, Frederick. I think this is a very important matter, Frederick, so thank you for bringing it up. I agree with you, Frederick, we should start on this as soon as possible.” she makes sure to hit Frederick’s name with as much cheer as she could, as she feels Chrom’s agitation growing as she did so. Sparrow can also see Frederick knows she is repeating his name on purpose, though she can also see he hasn’t the foggiest idea  _ why.  _

He goes to speak, letting out a flustered and awkward cough, but Chrom interrupts him with an impatient, “Frederick, please wait outside. We’ll be out in a moment.”

Frederick seems almost relieved to be let go, and gives a short bow, with a quick, “Of course, Milord.” before quickly vacating the room. There’s a moment of silence, though the birds have returned to their morning chatter, and she makes an attempt to speak, but is quickly silenced by Chrom grabbing her.

Sparrow lets out a rather undignified and startled squeak as Chrom pulls at her so she’s beneath him. He pushes himself onto his hands and just  _ looks _ at her, his eyes seeming to search her face for the answer to an unposed question. She wonders if he’s looking for the cracks in her mask he saw last night, the crumbling and the crying, but Sparrow’s had the best rest she’s had in ages, so it would take more than a piercing gaze to make her fall apart again. Besides, a large portion of that mask had been her hiding her feelings, and while she knows she still can’t express them too flamboyantly, she at least can take some pleasure in revealing them in smaller ways. 

So she smiles, pleased at the startled look this elicits from Chrom, and lifts one hand to cup the side of Chrom’s face as she says, “Good morning, my love.”

It’s a cheap trick, but Sparrow isn’t ready to address her issues and feelings of inadequacy regarding Chrom. To do so, she knows, would mean bringing up the dream, and she’s not yet ready to bring that particular nightmare to the light quite yet. So, she distracts him, with smiles and pretty words. Honest, but carefully chosen. 

It works, his face relaxing as he bows his head down to knock their foreheads together with a fond smile.

“Good morning, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sparrow is banned from wedding planning within the day but the event is a momentous success regardless.
> 
> GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE WE MADE IT. I'M HONESTLY SO EMOTIONAL RIGHT NOW.... tbh with you, this chapter alone is ALL I wanted to post in the beginning. I started writing it out and thought "hm. I should write a lead in to this" and then the lead in turned into 55k so yA KNOW... I don't regret it though. this was an incredible project for me and one I'm honestly amazed I completed and one I can't believe is oVER. IT'S DONE. NO MORE SPARROW'S BALLAD. (that's maybe a minor lie I might have a few more one shots with her planned/in writing rn eye emojis) (but I won't be doing a rewrite of the second half of this game. I never meant to do the FIRST half.) 
> 
> to all my readers who have been here since the beginning!!! thank you so much for taking this journey with me! ;v; I've loved all your comments and kudos and thank you for all the time you spent reading this!!
> 
> to all the readers that popped in part way, thank you for giving this lil ol fic a chance!!! it means a lot to me!!
> 
> and to my beta who won't read this!! I owe you a donut you are a goddess amongst humans. 
> 
> And to everyone reading this, once again, thank you for letting my lil ol Sparrow into your heart!!! She means the absolute world to me and I hope you love her a lil too!!!! Thanks again and I hope to maybe see you on a different FE fic!!! Till next time!!!!
> 
> Love, your author <3


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